Losing Sight
by AmiNoo
Summary: AU to 3x02. In the midst of the battle, Merlin's courage and selflessness could prove to be his downfall: "His world erupted in an explosion of crimson colours."
1. Chapter 1

_Hello everyone! :)_

_I decided to return to the world of Merlin fanfiction with a multi-chapter story. However, I feel I should warn you: my multi-chapter stories have been known to fizzle out when I lose inspiration AND updates will be random and unpredictable to a busy year in an attempt to get into University :/. Still, I thought I would post it anyway, just because I felt guilty by saying to some lovely reviewers that I would write another story and then didn't straight away. _

_This is gonna be Merlin/Arthur bromantic (of course) but I've tried to bring other characters to the forefront as well to make it seem a bit more like the show. _

_**Summary: AU to 3x02. **__**In the midst of the battle, Merlin's courage and selflessness could prove to be his downfall**__**: "His world erupted in an explosion of crimson colours."  
**_

_The summary sucks a bit, but I've realised that's probably the most difficult part of this whole fanfiction malarkey ;)._

_I do not own Merlin (no matter how much I wish I did) but it is enjoyable to steal the characters for a little while.  
_

_Anyway, please enjoy! :)  
_

* * *

Merlin gasped, rolling on his side as the intense heat burned furiously at his back. He felt it singe at his jacket and jerked around on reaction, sapphire eyes widening upon discovering how close he had been to obliteration. The ochre flames roared higher, yearning out towards him and the warlock flinched back, forcing his elbow beneath him as he fought his way back to his feet.

His chest heaved, adrenaline pumping feverishly through his veins while his stare flicked around the destruction. Flames seemed to emerge from every side of the courtyard, devouring already felled bricks and attempting valiantly to bring down their walls further.

The sight was a painful one to endure, but one that he would evidently never forget; the fall of Camelot.

_Arthur, come on, where are you?_

The servant began to move with an urgency that encompassed him. His long legs deftly dodged around the debris with surprising ease, despite his apparent clumsiness as a manservant. He raced forth with a purpose towards the lower town, knowing that it was soon to be overrun and, without a doubt, the most perilous area of the city to be in at this time.

Sighing, he increased his pace; he had no doubt that Arthur would be there. Honestly, the clot-pole almost seemed to go looking for chances to be killed. How he had survived for so long without the concealed warlock on his shoulder really was a mystery.

The animalistic snarl of another fireball as it hurtled above him made him flinch, but he wasted no time in seeing where it landed. He had little time as it was, uncertain as to just what idiotic mess the prince had landed himself in by now. The sound of the imminent explosion as the sphere of fire collided made him wince, but he raced onward. There was little he could do to stop any further airborne attacks without risking weakening himself and leaving the rest of Camelot defenceless in the face of sorcery.

There was more to Morgause's and Morgana's plan than using Cenred and his army as pawns; he just knew it.

A startling whinny brought him skidding to a stop, his intense gaze swivelling instantly to the stables. His jaw dropped marginally at the flames he saw racing along the rooftop and licking hungrily down the walls. It would be devoured before long. The grave clash of battle snapped his head to the other side, knowing that at present, Arthur would probably be more grateful if Merlin ensured _his _survival rather than that of his horse.

Well, _probably._

With his decision made, he took a step towards where the prince was, fighting bravely for his kingdom. With regret, he forced the sound of desperate whinnying to the back of his mind; the horses, regrettably, would not be the only losses that Camelot would suffer this day.

"_Help!_"

Merlin froze, a shiver racing down his spine at the unmistakable scream coming from the burning stables. Turning, the warlock glanced fearfully towards the source of the plea, swallowing dryly as the actual pitch of the word registered in his mind.

It was a child's scream…

The death of a child, an _innocent_, was something that he could never condone and would never forgive himself for. And, despite Arthur being his priority, Merlin was certain that the prince would be able to last longer without his immediate help than the youngster would. With this thought in mind, Merlin raced towards the furiously blazing stables.

As he approached, the pair of sapphire eyes flashed a vibrant golden; reflecting the glare of the intensifying flames. The stable door flew open, releasing a pillar of smoke that forced the young servant back a few steps. He coughed as the vile ash clogged at the back of his throat, already raising an arm to cover his nose and mouth protectively.

"H-Help…!"

The plea was fainter this time and Merlin could vaguely hear a bout of violent coughing from within the stables. Drawing a deep breath while hoping futilely that it would not be one of his last, the warlock ran boldly into the flames.

The first thing that struck him was the incredible heat, forcing Merlin to stagger as though it had become a physical presence barring his path. His eyes blurred as the servant struggled through the smoke and he gagged, arm shielding his pale face desperately, "H-Hello?"

He ventured further, stumbling blindly through the destruction in search of the trapped child. The slightest movement at his side forced him to turn and he instantly flinched in surprise. A shrill noise erupted from the powerful creature's throat as it reared, hooves striking out at him in fear and despair. Reflexes that had often saved his life, he realised, allowed him to throw himself back, missing what would have been a fatal blow by inches.

The fall forced the air from his body and he immediately inhaled, feeling the blackened smoke clog his airways, choking him. He retched violently, leaning forward and trying to expel the murderous substance from his throat. The scorching hands tightened around his windpipe and he struggled to his knees, bent double as he fought for blessed air.

"H-Hello!"

Merlin's head snapped up, tears racing down his face from the sting of the flames coupled with his coughing fit. He squinted through the obscuring smoke and, finally, managed to glimpse a soot-covered face peeking out from beneath the safety of a saddle. The boy hacked once into a raised hand, eyes similarly moist as they fought to see through the fire.

Uneasily, Merlin scrambled to his feet, ducking the lunging flames that had begun to climb above his head and striding to the unfortunate peasant's side. He held out a hand towards the saddle-encased child – _clever boy_, he thought – the other still pointlessly protecting his mouth and nose.

"Come with me!"

The child obeyed, throwing the saddle off of him and hastily grabbing the older boy's hand. Merlin gripped it with equal anxiety, dragging his charge back the way he had come. A crack resounded above his head, and with an agility that betrayed his lumbering appearance, he leapt back, nudging the boy further behind him. The wooden beam collapsed before them, smouldering in obvious resistance to their escape.

Tugging the boy close, Merlin deftly hoisted him into the air as he soared over the fallen wood. He felt the boy stumble when his small feet connected yet again with the floor and righted him, urging the terrified child on ahead of him.

Another alarmed whinny gave him fair warning and the servant's eyes shifted rapidly to their next obstacle. The closest horse was straining, pulling in distress at the rope that bound it. Merlin's eyes followed the restraint to where it was tethered to the wood and he felt something sink deep in the pit of his stomach.

The rope was alight and seconds away from snapping.

Merlin reacted quickly, dropping the hand from his face and latching it securely onto the boy. With desperation guiding his aim, he threw the child from him to land heavily in the haystack at the opposite side of the stable away from the horses; not yet fully ablaze. Watching as the boy found his target, the warlock darted back, attempting in one last effort to also escape the approaching danger.

He heard the crack before he saw it, the power of the horse – consequently belonging to Arthur – racing past catching him off balance and spinning him around. He had no time to react, no time to even call upon his magic, as the end of the rope shot with deadly velocity towards his head. The still flaming line reflected momentarily in petrified sapphire orbs; a mocking sentiment to the evident lack of a flare of gold that should have been there.

Agony erupted behind his eyes, reverberating through his skull and his world erupted in an explosion of crimson colours. The vague sensation of flying enveloped him before he absently felt his body slam to a halt. The scarlet world faded, the crackle of the still raging fires dimming gradually along with all consciousness.

A scream that the warlock supposed belonged to the young boy, echoed as a hollow drone in his ears while all awareness departed him. His body was paralysed, the darkness smothering him entirely until Merlin relented and fell into the welcoming oblivion.

* * *

_I know it was quite a short opening chapter, but it was okay. Please review and let me know what you think! :)_

_I will try and update asap, but please be as patient as you can with me :P. Thank you for reading!_

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)  
_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hello everyone :)_

_Thank you for all the wonderful responses to the first chapter - they made my day! :D  
_

_Well, this is a bit of a longer update after the cliffhanger (and yes, Arthur fans, the prince will make an appearance now). I tried to make this as close to the episode as possible with regard to what is actually happening when the Knights are fighting at the beginning. _

_Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it! :)_

* * *

"Pull back! _Retreat!_"

Arthur struggled, tugging the almost deadweight of his father away from the heart of the battle. His stare fell with a sense of dread upon the approaching wave of soldiers, seemingly never-ending in their assault of Camelot. The lower town was taken; this was something he had accepted. If they regrouped and withdrew now, the citadel could still be spared.

Heaving, the prince wrenched Uther further away from the chaos. The elder man struggled uselessly, before seemingly conceding and pivoting on one foot. In a practised way, Arthur tugged his father's arm over his shoulder, grasping him securely around the waist and proceeding in dragging him away from the battle. He heard the King grunt by his ear and winced in sympathy, but, if anything, increased his pace.

_I need him safe. Then I can concentrate on defending his kingdom._

"Arthur," the regal man groaned by his side, causing Arthur to simply hoist him further up against him. "Arthur, enough…"

"You are wounded, Father and not yet recovered from your illness. I cannot allow you to fight. I _must_ protect my King," interrupted the blonde soldier, hauling Uther rapidly towards the courtyard as they passed through the blazing lower town. A pang of regret nestled deep within his chest at the devastation, but he forced it deep within; now was not the time for grief.

Father and son limped tiredly forth, some of the other knights lingering behind to defend their rulers honourably. The King hissed quietly by his side and Arthur murmured a quick apology as they rounded the corner towards the stables.

"Sire!"

Cerulean eyes expanded promptly and Arthur twisted, pitching to the side and wrenching the wounded Uther with him. Hardly even a second had passed when he saw his horse gallop hastily past them, neighing in torment at the horrifying events it had, unfortunately, born witness to.

"Father, are you alright?" he managed breathlessly, already moving regardless of the King's answer. He saw Uther sharply nod out of the corner of his eye and replied in kind, feet darting forward nimbly despite the weariness he could feel stirring within.

The stables, Arthur idly noticed, were all but demolished. Raging flames had swept up the structure until the prince could scarcely recognise what it had previously looked like. The relief that his horse had managed to escape was drastically overwhelmed by the reality that many others had not in some buildings that were similarly ablaze.

As he neared, he imagined that he saw a figure in the smoke, but disregarded the ridiculous notion instantly. There was no chance that any people who had remained in the lower town were still alive. He found himself swallowing past an uncomfortable lump in his throat at such burdening knowledge.

_How many have died here today? How many more _will_ die?_

Arms aching from the not quite so insubstantial weight of his father leaning against him, the prince headed towards the citadel, the crashing of war still chasing fast upon his heels. And yet, he refused to let it bring him down and defeat him: he was determined not to allow the kingdom that he loved, fall.

"Help me, _please!_"

Arthur stopped, glancing past the King's hunched frame to locate the source of the scream. An astounded expression coveted his face as he watched a young child stumble through the thick pillar of smoke billowing from the stables, coughing violently. The boy stumbled, sobbing harshly as he crashed to his knees on the hard, unforgiving ground.

The prince spun, hearing Uther curse as he was forced to hobble humiliatingly alongside at the movement. Arthur ignored the impressive language creeping as rather foreboding whispers into his ear and gestured hurriedly for a passing knight to approach. Without hesitation, the man, Sir Bedivere raced over to him, leaning in close so as to better hear his prince's orders.

"I need you to take my father to Gaius. Go, quickly!"

The tall knight bowed his head respectfully, pausing only to allow Arthur to duck out from under Uther's arm before swiftly taking his place. His father's concerned and uncertain stare found his own and, hoping that the air of confidence he portrayed was convincing to everyone but himself, Arthur quirked his lips reassuringly. Dodging around the pair, he raced in the direction of the fallen child.

"Calm down," he spoke softly, dropping expertly into a crouch before the boy. One hand reached out and tenderly rested on a shaking shoulder. The bowed head shot upright in surprise, tear-filled eyes swimming as they studied him. "Are you hurt?"

The stable boy paused, before steadily shaking his head. "Sire, he…" A bout of violent coughing prevented any further words and Arthur edged closer, supporting the small frame gently with both hands. It was clear that this child was beyond a mess; covered from head to toe in soot and trembling violently with what Arthur could only hope to be shock.

"You're alright; breathe through it," he coerced, edging his hands neatly under the boy's armpits and raising him carefully to his feet. The coughing began to subside, but Arthur placed a steadying hand behind the child's back. "Can you walk?"

"Sire," the boy turned, catching the prince off guard as he began clutching desperately at the bloodied chainmail. The tiny fingers scrabbled uselessly over the polished metal, trying to find purchase in his panic, "Sire, please help him! He pushed me out of the way and the rope… i-it just snapped, and he wasn't moving. I was too t-tired and I couldn't pull him out and…"

"Wait, wait. Just slow down…"

With an earnestness that struck the young Pendragon hard, the child clutched at him again, tears flowing steadily down his blackened cheeks. "He saved me, my Lord. Please, save _him_."

Arthur frowned as the child twisted, glancing back sorrowfully at the burning stables. A cruel sob tore itself from his throat and the prince followed his gaze, his exhausted mind struggling to comprehend what he was being told.

_Help him… he pushed me… wasn't moving… I couldn't pull him out… save him._

Solving the riddle that he had been presented with made his heart grow cold, colour draining from his face as he watched the inferno strike out towards them. The wall of flame flickered violently; a fiery beast still intent on consuming what little remained of the stables.

"There's not someone still in there?"

Personally, Arthur was not sure if he should actually phrase his statement as a question. Even if he was right in presuming that he had correctly deciphered what the stable boy had been trying to say, there was little chance that the person inside was still alive. The fire roared again and the child pressed tightly back against him, weeping hysterically at the damage.

The prince swivelled on one foot, calling over a passing knight whilst crouching back down to the boy's eye level. "Listen to me, Sir Geraint," he gestured behind him, "will take you to the castle, okay?"

"B-But, what a-about…?"

"I will help your friend," the prince assured him, softly wiping away his charge's tears with gloved fingers. A small smile of reassurance rose on Arthur's face as he held the child's innocent gaze, appearing decidedly uncertain as to whether or not his words could be trusted. "I promise."

Deep mocha eyes seemed to scrutinise every detail of his face before the crushed looking peasant nodded once. Arthur rose swiftly to his feet, motioning for the knight to approach. The child took Geraint's hand and was promptly swept away, glancing back fearfully at the lone soldier, eclipsed by the growing blaze.

As soon as the boy was pulled away, Arthur found himself glaring intensely at the flames, nearly blinded by the heat from several feet away. There was little chance that anyone still inside was still alive, but there still _was _one all the same.

_I have to try._

Sprinting forward, refusing to slow lest his trepidation get the better of him, Arthur raced through the open stable door. The smoke instantly congested his throat and he hacked harshly, watery eyes darting with rapidity around the room. His arm pressed harshly against his mouth in a poor effort to preserve oxygen – how could anyone still be alive in there?

Arthur ventured deeper into the heart of the fire, cursing his lack of foresight for not removing his armour. As it was, the temperature had begun to compress his entire body, forcing any residual energy from him with each step he took. It felt like he was roasting alive; in retrospect, he probably was.

"Can anybody hear me?"

His cry was almost immediately drowned out by the growling flames as they launched themselves towards him, starving for something new to burn. The prince ducked them, feeling some singe his scalp lightly as they raged overhead.

"Hello!"

Cerulean eyes scanned the floor, despite his sight fading with each passing moment in the suffocating smoke. _There is no possible way that anyone can… _His trail of thought stopped instantly as he glimpsed the bottom of a boot in the dark, motionless amidst the chaos. Refusing to blink for fear that the image would disappear, Arthur raced forth, overwhelming relief building as more of the tan, buckled footwear was revealed.

Arthur's stomach dropped whilst his eyes simultaneously widened, oblivious to the agony of the stinging smoke. He had seen those boots before, usually in midflight as their owner comically slipped and fell in an assortment of tangled limbs to the floor. It was a clumsiness that honestly at times had impressed the young prince.

Moving faster, Arthur dropped to his knees beside the familiar figure. His skinny body lay slumped on his side, legs tangled over one another haphazardly and one arm stretching out uselessly towards the exit. The dark head of hair had been flung back, blood trickling from a brutal looking wound across both his brow and closed eyes, carving dark tracks down the pallid face.

"M-Merlin?"

There was no reply, as expected, but Arthur felt his heartbeat increase its pace with each second his servant remained unresponsive. The blood from the wound dripped steadily onto the floor and the prince flinched, wondering how he could somehow hear it over the fury of the inferno around him. Some burns littered the servant's hands, his brown jacket singed cruelly to his back. Merlin looked whiter than he had ever seen him before – practically drained of colour. He looked dead.

_Oh please, no._

He coughed violently, the pain in his chest wrenching him back to reality with a jolt. Wasting no time, praying that the head wound was the only injury his servant had acquired, Arthur grabbed the limp arms, tugging the slim boy's upper body towards him. Stooping beneath Merlin's inert frame, he guided the thin torso over his shoulder and straightened immediately with his burden.

Arthur choked again, unable to shield his face this time with both his arms wrapped tightly around the servant's legs. Spinning, trying forlornly to ignore the slapping of Merlin's flaccid hands against his lower back, Arthur strode through the stables with as much haste as his fatigued body would allow. More than once he had to divert his path, dodging the collapsing wooden planks as the building began to yield to the blaze. The ceiling groaned above him, but he refused to spare it any more than a brief glance.

He was running out of time.

His breath wheezed in his chest and he attempted to lessen his inhales, afraid that the smoke would accomplish its task in incapacitating him before they managed to escape. Sweat ran freely from his brow, the chainmail scorching slightly against his exposed skin as he shifted. Another beam keeled before him and he found himself stumbling to avoid it, breathing heavily as he breached the door.

The pillar of shadowy smoke seemed to thrust at his back and he all but sprinted away, clearing the inferno easily until the heat no longer wrapped itself like a vice around him. Steadily, panting with exertion between coughs, Arthur fell back to his knees and tenderly lowered Merlin's body from his shoulder. The ash-covered face remained stoic, the servant's head thumping weakly against the earth where Arthur laid him.

The wound, Arthur realised as he barely withheld a grimace upon viewing it more clearly, was a grave one. It sliced deeply from the corner of his left eye until it finished upon the lower brow of the opposite side of Merlin's head. Raw burns seemed to smoulder along the boy's eyelids, as though inner flames were burning deep within. Studying them with a concerned expression, Arthur forced himself not to ask what that might mean.

"Merlin?" the prince edged closer, eying the unconscious boy for a reaction. There was none; not even the most miniscule twitch to grant a sign of awareness. "Merlin, can you hear me?"

He waited again, not even noticing a slight movement of Merlin's lips that should have been present when he drew breath. Panic flared in the warrior's mind and he swiftly lowered his ear to the boy's chest, waiting for the rise and fall of him breathing, the thump of what he knew to be a courageous heart…

Arthur held his own breath; waiting for the sign of life that just _had _to be there. Because Merlin: that awkward, defiant, irritating, loyal, gentle idiot, who had the rather frustrating ability to make _everyone _adore him, just couldn't die like this. Arthur, frankly, refused to let it happen.

Seconds ticked on, encasing the golden prince and suspending him in his grief. All the while, obliviousness to the world around grasped at him, shielding him from the clash of swords as some of his knights fought back approaching soldiers from the citadel. But still, despite everything happening around him, there was nothing.

"No," whispered the prince, pulling back and staring beseechingly at his servant's vacant expression. "No! I am _not _letting you die today."

Body still trembling from heat exposure and weariness, Arthur lightly tapped the protruding cheekbone to force a reaction. Merlin's head lolled weakly with the touch, but otherwise remained impassive. He tried again, harder this time, but was once more denied.

"Come on!" His other hand rubbed against the boy's chest, trying in some futile way to compel the skinny body to breathe. Hovering fully over Merlin's still frame, Arthur slapped him again, ignoring the painful twinge he felt upon seeing the servant's head flop lifelessly to the side.

"Only an idiot like you could sit back and die like this, _Mer_lin!" Another harsh slap caused his jaw to open reluctantly, still not able to draw in air. "You really are useless!" This slap hit Merlin's head back the other way, his chest still being grated by the prince's knuckles. "Because there are plenty of other servants who can actually _work_, you know!" Slap. "I don't _need_ you!"

Arthur breathed heavily, eyes welling with what he would later deny to be an after-effect of his exposure to the smoke. His gaze locked imploringly on Merlin's face, angled backward from the last hit, but still impassive to Arthur's efforts. The prince's fist rested on the servant's thin chest, hovering there in desperate hope of some change in his condition.

"Come on. Come on."

The mantra repeated itself endlessly from Arthur's lips, even when no actual sound accompanied it. His compassionate eyes stared unblinkingly at Merlin, not even daring to close should they miss any response. But, as realisation sunk in, the blonde head began shaking in denial, bunched up fist now a flattened palm over his servant's still chest.

"No Merlin, please…"

Sorrow, so burdening and defeating, fell upon the young Pendragon's shoulders. They hunched under the weight of his grief and he felt the world fall into silence, even the flames and war cries muted in respect. His raised his head wearily, a melancholy so unfitting to his normal radiance shimmering in his gaze. He felt disconnected; so separate from his surroundings and so utterly lost.

He had watched men die before and had killed his fair share. But this… this was _Merlin. _This was no soldier with a sworn duty, no bandit who had initiated an attack upon others. It was his loyal servant who followed him everywhere without any obligation; his advisor who warned him against danger and told him when he was wrong; his friend who had made each day that little bit richer ever since he had arrived.

The golden head bowed, christened with the unholy glow of the ochre flames. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, feeling the first few tears fighting to squeeze out between his lids, threatening to break him. _No, this isn't fair. He can't die - not here, not like this._

As though sensing his torment, Merlin's body convulsed, spine arching as a harsh inhale grated upon the prince's ears. Arthur gasped in unison with his servant, brow furrowing as his eyes struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. For a moment, Merlin struggled, retching and gulping down air, before his body slumped and he settled neatly back into unconsciousness.

_Unconscious: not dead._

"Merlin?"

Arthur leant close, ear resting near to the chest and listening to the painful sounding breaths his friend made. His brow furrowed as he heard a hitch in Merlin's breathing before it fell back into a strained rhythm. But he _was_ breathing and Arthur knew that he had to be grateful for that small miracle alone.

The scream of another fallen soldier made his head snap up and he watched as the remaining knights began to initiate his order to retreat to the bridge. A murderous flash of swords forced his drained body into action and he tentatively pulled the lax body up against him. He needed to get Merlin to Gaius _now_.

His hand slid behind Merlin's back, wincing at the heat emanating from the familiar jacket. The other hand hurriedly slipped under Merlin's knees, the clash of swordplay urging him onward. With incredible ease, reminding Arthur once again how skinny his servant actually was, the prince rose to his feet, Merlin hanging limply from his arms.

Compelling his legs to run, the prince sprinted with impressive speed towards safety. The thin frame jostled horrifically with the movement while the heavy head thumped back over the crook of Arthur's arm. Arthur instantly tightened his hold, a resolute set to his jaw as he moved with purpose. The cerulean orbs hardened, glaring ahead at their destination and resisting, with every possible urge, to glance down at the burden in his arms.

The citadel towered ahead, his feet smacking loudly against the wooden bridge. Elation unfurled in his stomach as the familiar shadow fell upon them: a small attempt to shelter them from the stalking threat. Its presence embraced the pair and Arthur mimicked it by holding Merlin closer, his soothing whisper gliding over the comatose boy.

"Hold on, Merlin."

* * *

_I wasn't sure if Arthur sounded a bit OOC when he was trying to get Merlin to breathe but then again, Arthur has rarely had to deal with Merlin when severely injured (except The Poisoned Chalice which was pretty early on in their relationship). Plus, carrying him bridal style is an image that has been stuck in my head since Uther carried Arthur like that in 1x13: I could just totally visualise Arthur carrying an injured Merlin like that. _

_Please review and let me know what you think of this chapter! :)_

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)_


	3. Chapter 3

_Hello everyone! :)_

_Sorry for the lack of an update (coursework has been awful at the moment). On the upside, I got an A in my A2 Biology module so I was feeling motivated to write :P._

_This chapter begins to branch out more into other characters (as it will do for the duration of the battle), but hopefully after it concludes, I'll return to the focus of Merlin and Arthur and their wonderful bromantic relationship :D._

_Anyway, it is a slightly longer update as a way of me saying thanks for you all being patient with me. Thank you for sticking with me so far! Hope you all enjoy :)._

_

* * *

_

Chapter 3

Gaius finished tying the bandage around the King's leg quickly, muttering an insincere apology as he hissed in pain. Sheens of sweat had formed upon his brow and absentmindedly he wiped it away with the back of his hand. As Uther began to move, assuming that the physician's hesitation indicated that he was free to leave, Gaius forcefully pushed him back down.

"Sire, I would advise that you remain still," the older man said calmly, ignoring the murderous glare Uther gave him upon being handled like a chastised child, "an arrow wound to the leg is not something to be treated carelessly."

The elder Pendragon narrowed his eyes in defiance, before his body seemed to relax. The tension left his shoulders with as much speed as it had formed and he nodded his head, "Of course, you are right, Gaius. But it is my kingdom and remaining sat here while we are under attack is just…"

He broke off, turning his face to the side upon the realisation that he had revealed too much. Hesitantly, Gaius rested a hand on the man's shoulder, waiting until the sincere eyes once again rose to meet his gaze. "I understand, Sire, but Arthur is a strong soldier and a wise prince," he paused, letting his words sink in, "I am certain that he will defend it as vigorously as you would."

"Yes, you are right."

The physician removed his hand, before casting his gaze elsewhere. Morgana had long since vanished and, until Merlin returned, there was little he could do to stop her. Banishing these thoughts for the moment, his eyes fell on the traumatised stable boy who had been brought in by a knight. He was being carefully doted upon by Gwen, who washed his face carefully and spoke to them with a caring affection akin only to a mother's. Assured that this patient would manage for the time without his help, he moved to a wounded soldier sprawled out on a near bed.

A deep gash ran along the man's hairline and upon raising the bloody cloth used to stem the bleeding; Gaius was pleased to note that it had slowed to a manageable trickle. He wrung the cloth out beside him, internally wincing at the watery crimson liquid that poured to the floor. Gently, he placed the less saturated cloth back over the wound, monitoring the man's pulse and finding it to be satisfactory.

The old man sighed heavily, having already dealt with countless others who had not been as lucky as this man. It was fair to say that coupled with Uther's illness, Camelot had been caught completely unaware by the sudden attack of Cenred's army. And the price for their ignorance was an incredibly heavy one.

The resounding crash of the doors to the hospital being flung open made every conscious occupant turn to locate the source. Gaius straightened, eyes focussing slowly on the tall figure that had begun to stumble forth in search of aid. His golden hair was matted with ash, the person's face similarly caked to such a degree that the regal, handsome prince was barely recognisable. His arms clutched desperately at the burden in his arms, unresisting and immobile in his master's arms.

The physician felt his stomach lurch awfully beneath his skin. _Merlin…_

His ward looked considerably worse than the man holding him; a blackened and singed body that appeared to be almost beyond repair. Vibrant scarlet blood cut a devastating line along Merlin's face, trickling lines racing in all directions from his carried position. The boy's head was flung limply back over the prince's arm, his legs swinging from side to side with each step Arthur took. One arm dangled downward, fallen from its previous position on his chest. It moved as a pendulum, ticking on in an imitation of time and, more so, as a reflection of a beating heart.

"Gaius!" the prince's voice was raw and pained as he staggered between the beds, ignorant to the horrified stares he was attracting from the surrounding people. "Somebody please, help him!"

The devastated scream of the usually so collected crown prince of Camelot drew tears to the eyes of many, their faces whitened with shock at what they were seeing. Gaius heard the stable boy behind him sob woefully at the gruesome scene, struggling to be comforted by Gwen's shaking voice.

"_Gaius!_"

As though physically shocked, Gaius darted into action, moving with impressive speed across the hospital to the sorrow-inducing pair. "Arthur, place him down on the bed," he ordered as he approached, gesturing to one of the few empty cots left.

The prince obliged, moving wearily towards the nearest surface and, with a tenderness that was very dissimilar to his status as a soldier, he laid Merlin down. Arthur took a bold step back, fearful of leaving his servant's side but aware that he could personally do nothing more for him. Instead, he watched blankly as Gaius rushed to the boy's side, leaning over him and murmuring his name with the frantic worry of a father.

The old hands went first to the obvious head wound. Noting that the blood flow had begun to ease, the deepest area of the gash being upon his lower brow, Gaius went to prise open the servant's eyelids. Within seconds he retracted his fingers, the harsh burns having welded the skin together momentarily. Time would be the best remedy to reduce the swelling there, but he would retrieve a lotion to aid the process when his time was not so finely stretched.

He skirted fleetingly along Merlin's legs and lower abdomen, touching lightly upon the burnt material to discern the severity. Satisfied, he rested a hand upon the slim chest, instantly replacing it with his ear as he listened to the crackling breaths trapped within Merlin's lungs. His brow crinkled with concern, aware that smoke inhalation could be fatal after prolonged exposure.

"What happened?" the physician eventually managed, sending a sharp look at the prince. His gaze softened as he registered Arthur's stricken expression, the cerulean eyes still locked solely upon Merlin. "Sire, please, you must tell me what happened."

"T-There was a fire," Arthur began as though in a daze. His eyes snapped up, meeting Gaius' with startling clarity before the young man collected himself, shoulders straightening despite the weight of his responsibility. "In the stables, a young boy had escaped and told me that someone had saved him, but had gotten trapped inside whilst getting him out."

Gaius' mind instantly went to the crying child and nodded slowly, lowering his wizened eyes to his ward. _Oh Merlin. _Truthfully, it was no surprise to learn that Merlin had selflessly darted into the eye of an inferno, all in the hope of rescuing a young boy.

"I didn't know that it was Merlin until…"

The physician sent a pitying look at the young Pendragon, a painful twinge in his chest enlightening him to exactly how he would have felt in the same situation. Gaius opened his mouth in an effort to console the prince when harsh coughing rent the air from beside him. In an instant, he was hovering over Merlin's form, coaxing him to clear his throat whilst turning him onto his side.

"That's it, Merlin. That's it."

A viscous black liquid oozed from between the servant's lips as he hacked, Gaius tenderly rubbing his back in comfort. Whimpers accompanied each ragged inhale as the coughing fit continued, but the physician knew that all he could do was wait it out and hope that Merlin's own immune system would manage to remove the majority of the ash in his lungs.

From the corner of his eyes, Gaius saw the King limping towards them, aided by a guard. He hadn't the heart to reprimand him, aware that it was a father's concern for his son and not pure stubbornness that had forced the man onto his feet.

"Gwen," he called, motioning the shaken girl closer and away from her task of consoling the stable boy. She all but ran over to him, concerned eyes falling upon Merlin and instantly filling with tears. One slim hand instinctively rested on his trembling shoulder while he retched, her lips forming the shape of his name fearfully.

Gaius caught her gaze, dragging it with tremendous difficulty away from his ward. "Gwen, I need you to fetch me some fresh water if you would. Take a guard with you, but be swift. It should ease the swelling in his throat and help his breathing."

"Of course," she replied around the lump in her throat. She began to move before glancing anxiously at the gash spanning the width of the boy's brow, "Gaius, what about his head? Do you need me to fetch something?"

"The wound will have to wait. If the smoke is not cleared from his lungs, I fear an infection will be imminent. If that happens…" he broke off, leaving the unspoken words hanging heavily in the air around them. Gwen's complexion paled considerably and she nodded, rushing away through the crowds of injured people with incredible haste.

As the physician leant close to his coughing boy again, he heard Uther come to a stop behind him; the loud slap of gloves on the metal breast plate making Gaius flinch. But he remained silent, murmuring softly to Merlin as the poor servant continued to heave, fighting desperately for air through the pungent smoke in his lungs.

"Arthur, are you well?" The elder Pendragon asked, hands resting strongly on his son's chest and shoulder; for both support and as the supportive person. The King frowned at Arthur's expression, the twin cerulean eyes staring blankly ahead at the cot behind him. "Arthur?"

Slowly, as though waking from a dream, Arthur dragged his gaze upward, "Father? I… uh, yes, I am fine."

Uther narrowed his eyes, running them quickly over the prince's frame to ascertain that his son's rather hesitant assessment was in fact a correct one. After finding no injuries, he sighed, gripping the chainmail tightly beneath his fingers, "Arthur, I understand your grief," he paused, personally wondering if 'grief' was the correct term to use for a lowly servant, "but the battle is not over. There is much to be done."

The prince nodded sharply, clearing his throat loudly and attempting to regain his composure. "The lower town is lost, but I believe that we will still be able to save the citadel. The knights are already setting up barriers at the bridge to prevent passage. It is possible that we will be able to force them back from there."

"Possibilities mean nothing in war, Arthur, you must…"

A deafening crash sounded from outside, the entire structure of the castle seeming to tremble for a moment before holding. Women's screams of terror rang shrilly in Uther's ears as he glanced at the cowering servants about him. Fear for his people escalating, he turned back to his son, a reprimand already forming on his lips. He almost recoiled at the severe expression his son wore; allowing anger for what was happening to the kingdom to encompass his anguish.

"You have to trust me Father. I know what I'm doing."

With that, the prince strode away, people parting respectfully for him as he all but sprinted into the heart of battle. As he went, Arthur raised a gloved hand to his face, wiping away grime, ash and, unbeknownst to all but himself, the few shed tears. Then, setting his face sternly, he pushed through the hospital doors, swiftly bursting into run as he raced back into the fray.

Gaius watched the young prince go, realising with a heavy heart how quickly Arthur had had to conceal his true feelings in the hope of being viewed as a strong soldier. Squeezing his eyes closed, he sent out a silent prayer, realising bitterly that the lament of all old men was that the young would often die before them.

_Don't let that be true of them both._

"Sire, I suggest you rest," he spoke monotonously, not moving from his protective stance beside the now unmoving form of his ward. One aged hand reached forth, tenderly brushing the short strands of Merlin's hair back and away from his sweat-sleeked brow. "You will aggravate your wound if you insist that you remain standing."

Not even glancing to see if the King had heeded his advice, Gaius lowered his head so that his ear rested above Merlin's lips. Now that the coughing fit had subsided, the young warlock's breathing capability had reduced considerably to the point where the inhales were hardly even perceptible. However, the physician hoped that most of the ash had been expelled from his lungs and he would, hopefully, be clear of infection.

_It is down to you now, Merlin. _Gaius thought solemnly, not doubting Merlin's own strength, but rather the might of his ominous opponent who threatened to tear him from this world. Lifting his head away from the boy's mouth, he sighed, leaning heavily on the cot.

"Gaius!" the wise eyes snapped towards a running Gwen who clasped a bucket of water securely in her hands. A chalice was tucked neatly beneath her arm and Gaius praised her prudence of the situation. She slowed to a stop beside them, placing the pail of water down onto the opposite cot and plunging the goblet neatly into it.

The physician smiled gently at her as she passed over the goblet, before lifting Merlin's head upward. He was surprised to notice that his hand shook as he poured the water steadily into the thin gap between Merlin's lips, fervently pleading that the boy would not choke and simply cough it all back up again. He whispered quietly to the unconscious servant, constantly persuading him to swallow as a way of aiding his injury. Eventually, satisfied by the amount of water that had been drunk, Gaius replaced the dark head of hair back on the bed and stepped back, chalice clasped tightly in one hand.

Gwen paused, before gently reaching out and wiping away a trail of water that had crept from the corner of Merlin's mouth. Subconsciously, she stroked her friend's cheekbone, her lips twitching into a watery grimace at his wretched state. Her gaze studied the blackened soot that seemed to mar every inch of his porcelain-like skin and she sighed. Tugging up the sleeve of her lavender dress, she began to remove the ash that had caked him so heavily, but her efforts appeared to have little effect.

"His face will need cleaning; I can scarcely recognise him under all this. Oh, Merlin…" she paused, moments away from weeping over her gravely ill friend. Holding herself together regally, despite her status, the maid bent forward and planted a light kiss on Merlin's cheek before pulling back. "Gaius, he is going to be okay isn't he?"

The physician opened his mouth to reply when he froze, a shiver racing through his body and causing him to twitch slightly. The faint feeling passed relatively swiftly, but even Gaius, whose powers had dwindled increasingly since the times of the Great Purge, could recognise the use of formidable magic nearby. Before he could ponder this further, no more than a second after he had felt the enchantment being released, Merlin reacted.

And the young warlock's reaction was far more potent than his own.

Instantly, with a harsh intake of breath, Merlin's body shot upright. Gaius flinched back in surprise, the chalice slipping from his grasp and clashing loudly against the stone floor. On the other side of the cot, Gwen gasped, her hand rising to her mouth in a weak attempt to still any further sounds of alarm.

The physician collected himself quickly, moving around the boy's rigid frame until he could view his face. The colour drained from the old man's complexion as he glimpsed Merlin's eyes, no longer the entrancing sapphires that they had once been. They looked, simply, as though an overcast sky had formed over his pupils and irises, the outer rims bloodshot from the physical trauma. The lifeless colour had seeped across his eyes in different shades of grey, concealing what had once been a startlingly vibrant stare to behold.

Realising what this meant, Gaius found his words clogging his throat as he struggled to speak. After much effort, he finally drove out the one word that held any semblance of meaning in his world: "Merlin?"

Heavily charred eyelids blinked once, the absent gaze still focussed dead ahead as though in contemplation. A sigh like the first breeze of autumn whistled from Merlin's lips, now parched lightly. His eyes flashed white as they rolled back into his head and, as though realised from an invisible hold, the slim body slumped downward.

Gaius lunged with astounding agility, enveloping the boy against his chest to prevent his fall. He murmured incomprehensibly into the dark hair, cradling Merlin against him as a parent would their newborn. Despite the uncomfortable position, he remained clutching his ward tightly, almost rocking the unconscious servant as the true horror of Merlin's situation greeted him.

_His eyes… Oh Merlin, I am so sorry._

He was not entirely sure how long he had stood there for but he wagered it had been for a couple of minutes, for when he glanced up, Gwen had already left to attend another wounded victim. Exhaling sorrowfully, the physician's chin rested gently atop Merlin's head, the short hairs softly tickling his skin. He almost wished that he had Merlin's unique ability of slowing down the ticking of time, just so that he could hold this moment for a lifetime.

After this, things would only proceed to go from bad to worse.

The doors to the hospital were violently flung open again and, with an impression of urgency, Sir Geraint strode forth. "The hospital must be sealed off! Seal the doors, windows, anything that could be used as an entrance."

Overlapping panicked speech echoed off the walls and Gaius steadily lowered Merlin to the bed. He spun, glancing around at the frightened faces. The knight raised a hand for silence; his patience, it seemed, lacking of late due to the current situation. "Stay calm. It seems that there is a traitor in our midst, using sorcery against us. We will find whoever it is and make them rue the day of this betrayal."

"What has happened?" exclaimed one voice, belonging to a scrawny looking servant crouching dutifully beside the bed of a woman. "Are they inside the walls?"

Sir Geraint began to formulate a reply when a servant darted past him, scrambling with haste into the sanctuary that the hospital appeared to provide. He gasped desperately, eyes wide as he turned back towards the door, a shaking finger pointing back down the corridor towards the way from which he had come. All eyes watched him with trepidation, both wanting to know what had caused such distress and wanting to cover their ears and live in ignorance.

Before the latter option could be chosen, the serving man screeched awfully: "The dead! The dead have risen against us! They march within the citadel walls!"

And as chaos broke out, Gaius understood what the magic he had sensed had meant. The traitor in their midst had completed her task by forcing the knights of Camelot to fight a battle on two fronts; something that, despite all their skill, they would never be able to win. And, perhaps worst of all, the only person capable enough to stop her was fatally wounded, with no chance of rousing any time soon. The physician's shoulders slumped wearily, a cloak of dread falling heavily against his back at such crippling knowledge.

Camelot was doomed.

* * *

_Duh, duh, duh! hehehe. I think this qualifies as a cliffhanger...  
_

_I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and please review if you can to let me know what you think! :)._

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_Hello everyone :)_

_Thank you for all the reviews and responses to the first three chapters - they've all made me smile :D. There's little to say about this one - only that Arthur gets shoved back into his "action man" role, of course. Who doesn't love to watch that man swing around a sword for a while? _

_Anyway, enjoy and I hope the wait was worth it :)._

_

* * *

_

Chapter 4

A resoluteness that could only be granted to a Pendragon had etched itself deeply into Arthur's being as he raced away from the hospital and towards the courtyard. The crashes of flying infernos as they smashed into the sturdy castle walls made him wince, but he persisted stubbornly.

Dodging neatly around the wounded that were being dragged agonisingly forth in search of aid, the prince felt the tug of shame lurking within. He knew that, if he had any choice in the matter, he would have helped the injured and led them to safety. As it was, he lowered his gaze as he passed them, trying to ignore what he knew would be beseeching stares watching him.

_I'm sorry. _And even though they couldn't hear his thoughts, he prayed that his actions on this fateful day would be apology enough to them all.

Rounding the corner, he broke out into another desperate sprint, leaping down the stairs that lead to the castle exit with sheer desperation. He burst out into the open air furiously, skidding to a halt atop the stone steps that watched out over the courtyard. Flashes of fire continued to ignite the night sky and the prince's eyes shimmered as they watched them; alight with fear and fury.

_Cenred will pay for this._

"Sire!"

Arthur's gaze snapped swiftly to the courtyard, instantly widening as they located the reason for the cry. Before a small band of his knights, advancing with menacing intent, were the dead. Their bones were shone sickly white colour in the light of the moon, an eternal grin composed on their faces. Horrified, the prince watched as one of the dead soldiers twisted its head towards him, the maniacal grin enhanced as it brandished its sword threateningly towards him.

Recognising a challenge when he saw one, Arthur unsheathed his sword, taking the stairs three at a time to meet his opponent. It strolled towards him, joints creaking awfully with each step it took, as though it was close to crumbling. Arthur futilely hoped that it would; after all, how did you kill a dead man?

About to discover the answer to his impossible question, the prince swung furiously towards the narrow neck. Perhaps decapitation would not necessarily _kill _his opponent, but it was bound to at least partially hinder it.

With surprising agility, disregarding the agonising creaks that erupted with the movement of the skeleton's joints, it parried the blow, forcing Arthur back a step before dealing one of its own. The prince dodged back, their swords clashing violently against each other in rapid swordplay. As was expected in a soldier's duel, Arthur was obligated to meet his enemy's eyes, but flinched upon seeing the deep empty pits in their stead. Nevertheless, he held the non-existent stare, all too aware that if he lowered his gaze, the chilling grin would be all that greeted him.

The dead warrior swung its weapon in a high arch, intended to catch Arthur on his right shoulder. Anticipating, the prince twisted, forcing the opposing blade to skim sharply across his sword until he could thrust it to the side. Wrenching back, Arthur changed direction, slamming his weapon deeply into the visible ribcage and twisting.

He waited, watching as the skeleton merely glanced down at the embedded weapon before focussing upon him once more. It shrugged and Arthur momentarily felt like joining it in that sentiment. It moved quickly, swiping outwards with the sword towards his neck so that he was forced to bow backwards to avoid losing his head. He cursed as his hand lost its grip on the sword, but before he could reclaim it, the dead creature attacked him again.

Arthur backed away slightly, grimacing as it tugged his blade free of its chest, twirling it in its free hand mockingly. It stepped closer again, the two swords shining a murderous red as more airborne infernos roared overhead. The ghastly smirk on the thing's skull sent a shiver down his spine, but he stilled it, eyes skilfully watching the twirling blades as they neared him.

In stunning synchronisation, they twirled as they fell striking down upon him.

The young Pendragon weaved away from the first blow, ducking his head to avoid the second before he attacked. His hand curled into a tight fist and, never slowing his gait with the understanding that the two blades were soon to descend back upon him, he let it fly strongly into his opponent's jaw.

Bone shattered beneath his attack and he winced as it splinted, slicing deeply into his knuckles. The skeletal frame jerked to the side from the brutal force of the attack and it collapsed to the ground, slamming hard against the courtyard stone. Arthur wasted no time in retrieving both his and the creature's weapon from the floor, dancing away in case it regained its feet suddenly.

He pivoted on the spot, watching as the group of his knights valiantly held back the swarm. However, exhaustion was beginning to take its toll and it was clear that they could not fight a battle on two fronts; particularly when one front was clearly fuelled by sorcery within Camelot's walls.

"Geraint!"

The closest knight reacted swiftly to the sound of his name and locating the source, he sprinted away from the battle towards the prince. His sword glinted brilliantly in the night, no blood to paint it scarlet from the dead soldiers they futilely fought against. "My Lord," he gasped out as he slid to a stop before him, mocha eyes shining with concern.

"Go to the hospital and tell them to seal it off. If they get inside, there is little we can do for them. Their best chance is to lock themselves inside and bar the doors and windows until the battle is over. Go, tell them quickly."

Geriant bowed his head respectfully and Arthur slapped him gently on the shoulder in reply. As soon as the knight had left him, the prince returned to the battle, twin blades hanging loyally at his sides.

A yelp of horror to his left already had him running, gaze focussing in on the dead soldier that loomed over a cowering servant. The tip of its sword pointed murderously down towards the man's chest, inches away from ending his life. Arthur's lips vanished into a thin line at the act of cruelty and drawing his right arm back, he took aim. Letting out a sharp exhale, the sword was cast strongly through the air, its destination as straight and true as that of a lance.

Exposed ribs cracked under the force of the throw, the skeleton keeling to the side and away from the hapless servant. Arthur watched as the man scrambled to his feet, bowing hurriedly towards him in gratitude. Switching his spare sword to his favoured hand, the prince turned, coming face-to-face with the first skeleton he had encountered. Its jaw now hung brokenly on a hinge, lolling with the slightest movement as though in mocking laughter. Gaunt hands strained forth towards him and jerking back in horror, Arthur swung the blade. The crunch of bones under his attack made him cringe, before the spine gave way, forcing the skull to tumble uselessly to the hard floor.

The prince stared as the rest of the body paused, realising that something was missing. Blindly, it lunged towards him; fingers straining towards his throat in the hope of squeezing the life out of him. Made to dance away from the attack yet again, Arthur readied himself for an endless battle. His only hope was that the rest of his knights had managed to fully barricade the bridge from Cenred's soldiers.

_At least one front of attack may be denied entrance into Camelot's walls, _he thought bitterly, before letting out a fitting war cry and sending blow after blow at the headless soldier in front of him. Beating back his exhaustion, Arthur struck, refusing to admit defeat; only death would grant him that admission.

* * *

The hospital had burst into total pandemonium; the inhabitants screaming and clutching at each other as the servant's words registered. Guards unsuccessfully attempted to contain the horror, forcing people back into chairs or beds in their panic to get away from the approaching embodiments of death. Gaius watched them with disappointment. The hospital was being sealed off, indicating that Arthur was trying to protect them from any of the outside dangers. Running around and trying to escape would be a suicidal act; there was nothing they could do but sit, wait and pray.

The physician returned his gaze to his ward, splayed out lifelessly on the bed with no signs of regaining consciousness. His chest twitched minutely in its effort to draw in air, but the breaths seemed less strained than before. _He has cleared his lungs, _Gaius reflected, soothingly resting his hand over the boy's heart, _good._

"Merlin…"

He broke off, squeezing his eyes closed as his voice cracked on the boy's name. The chaos behind him reached a crescendo, people screaming that a barricade would do nothing to hold back the marching dead. Gaius tuned it out, tenderly stroking away stray soot that clung fervently to Merlin's cheek.

"Enough!" The dominating shout of the King instantly cut through the panic and Gaius twisted his torso in acknowledgement. "Unnecessary panic will not help in this situation. My son has decreed that the hospital must be sealed off and I have to agree with his decision."

Uther's expression switched suddenly and Gaius was almost certain that he had seen genuine concern flit across the sincere face. It was gone in an instant, however, and the King glanced around the numerous faces, daring anyone to challenge him. The patients and villagers retreated, falling into uneasy silence and Uther followed suit, wincing as he once again sat down to rest his injured leg.

"We need you now more than ever, Merlin," he murmured softly, wise eyes finding their way back to the warlock with ease. "I do not know what to do. I am not strong enough to stop Morgana, and I fear that if the enchantment is not stopped, Arthur and the knights will fall."

Merlin remained still, pale face tilted back on the table. The gruesome wound glared out at him, no longer bleeding but still shining a vibrant scarlet; a harsh reminder of what the young servant had lost. Sighing sorrowfully, Gaius leant forward, his lips resting beside Merlin's ash-coated ear.

"Merlin, please, I need your help."

The warlock's comatose state persisted, but Gaius felt a slight thrum of power tingle as it met his skin. He straightened, gasping as he discovered the source of the energy he had felt. Without a moment's hesitation, he grabbed a sheet and threw it over Merlin's body, covering the glowing orb nestled in the servant's palm from view as he did so.

The physician knew what Merlin was trying to do and nodded softly: "Okay, Merlin."

He turned and walked hurriedly away. He grabbed Gwen, asking her to keep an eye on his ward and that she should, in no condition, remove the sheet from over him. At her confused glance, he quickly assured her that it was to stave off the shock that was making its way through his system.

Briskly, he was moving again towards the doors and the stern-looking Geraint who was ensuring that there would be no last minute escape attempts. "Sir Geraint," greeted Gaius, receiving a warm incline of the man's head in reply. "Forgive me, but I must pass."

"Gaius, the doors must be sealed if we have any chance of protecting the injured."

The older man nodded in concurrence, "Indeed, but I am afraid that I do not have all the required remedies to treat the injured people here. It is important that I retrieve them."

The knight paused, seeming to consider the words carefully. "Can you not manage with what medicines you have with you?"

"Perhaps for those with minor injuries, but those who are not so fortunate," Gaius held Geraint's gaze, sincerity glowing like a beacon from the older man's eyes, "those like Merlin will not last."

At the sound of the prince's manservant's name, Geraint seemed to deflate. It was a well known fact that the skinny servant had not only claimed the respect and friendship of the crowned prince, but also that of his steadfast soldiers who he watched and trained with each day. Merlin's loyalty was revered by the knights and his bravery unchallenged by each and every one of them.

Because even though Merlin was a gawky, scarily clumsy idiot, he was still the finest that the people of Camelot had ever known.

The knight exhaled slowly, taking a step to the side to grant the physician passage. "Be as quick as you can, Gaius. If those things start getting too close, I will have to seal the entire hospital off."

Gaius rushed past silently, understanding the warning within Geraint's words; there was every chance he would be shut out of the only safe place left within Camelot's walls. The only thing that forced his feet to move was his unwavering faith in Merlin and his hope that the young warlock was still fighting for them.

As he rounded the corner of the corridor, he froze, eyes widening in wonder. Before him floated a cerulean orb, streams of magic entwining over one another in an endless movement, enrapturing all who stared upon them. Tentatively, Gaius reached out a finger, the skin slowly touching the sphere of magic. Warmth, so elating and _pure_, spread through him from head to toe and he quickly pulled away.

"Merlin…"

The whisper was barely discernable, slipping subconsciously from his lips as he gazed upon the floating orb. As though hearing his voice, it began to move away from him, silently urging him to follow. The physician obeyed, ignoring the creak of his bones as he forced them to move swiftly. He was led through the castle corridors and towards the courtyard, the ethereal glow encompassing him and promising to shield him from any approaching dangers. Gaius trusted the source of magic wholly, aware that it was Merlin's spirit that was guiding him; his body unable to do what was needed to be done.

"Retreat!"

The physician started at the cry and he dragged his eyes away from the azure sphere. Without realising it, he had arrived at the steps that led to the courtyard, where a violent battle was taking place. He watched horrified as the dead soldiers seemed to converge on the knights, swords swiping with murderous intent upon their opponents.

His stare fell upon the golden prince, free arm beckoning the remaining knights towards him. He called out for another retreat, sweat dripping rapidly from his brow and causing the blonde fringe to become stuck there. Even from the distance he stood at, Gaius could see the obvious signs of fatigue in the young man's movements and under any other circumstance, he would have demanded that Arthur rest and recuperate.

As it was, they were all just making do.

The orb circled him with urgency and Gaius acquiesced, descending the stairs as rapidly as he dared. He headed towards the crypts, the bright light of Merlin's magic shielding him from any outside stares, granting him a chance to end all the bloodshed. Accepting the chance, small as it was, without hesitation, Gaius followed the sphere into the crypts; the gentle hue of light his only guide as he delved into the perilous depths.

* * *

"Retreat!"

Arthur yelled breathlessly, summoning his knights with erratic waves of his arm. His chest heaved as he fought to draw in oxygen, struggling to stave off the exhaustion that was threatening to bring him to his knees. Nimbly, he backed away towards the castle, sword spinning as the skeletons followed. He watched out of the corner of his eyes as his knights slowly obeyed; some limping forward, others leaning weakly on another's shoulder for much needed support.

_We are not going to last._

The realisation was a crippling one to the young Pendragon, aware that should the knights fall, Camelot would quickly follow. They had been prided on being the best knights in the realm and yet here they were; losing and slowly dying as their kingdom burned around them.

This could not be how it was supposed to end.

"Retreat to the castle!" his voice cracked slightly upon the words and he coughed, smoke still tickling his lungs tauntingly. Forcing the hacking fit away, despite his itching throat, Arthur began to back away as the last of his knights raced past. His eyes watered as he repressed his coughs, cursing his now blurred vision; a rippling lake of crimson, ochre and black.

Turning on one foot, the prince ascended the stairs, throwing glances over his shoulder to see if the dead soldiers were pursuing. They were, predictably. Their lumbering pace irked the blonde haired knight, mimicking the way in which a predator toys with its prey before its death.

Trying to push the uneasy thought from his head, Arthur spun on his heels, blocking the castle entrance at the head of the stone steps. His glimmering sword lowered, its tip pointing threateningly towards the assembly of skeletons that advanced upon him.

Hearing his name being called, he shook his head. "No, keep going. I'll slow them down from here."

Sending a sincere look towards the warrior who had returned for him, Arthur took a moment to truly study the man before him. Sir Bors was a brave man and an impressive fighter. He favoured his right side, which often meant that his left was sloppily guarded. Often in training, the prince had exposed this flaw, giving the hint that the knight had to work on it; and he did, tirelessly. Arthur knew each of his knights' strengths and weaknesses in battle, but more so than that, he could distinguish each of their personalities with ease. His men were loyal and valiant; the prince could ask for nothing more.

Managing a small nod, the prince straightened, gripping the handle of his sword impossibly tight. A slow exhale whistled past his lips, attempting to lighten the pressure in his chest as it struggled to contain a rapidly beating chest. Then, he added one more thing; perhaps the last order he would ever issue.

"Protect them with your life."

As he spoke, his thoughts drifted to his father and Morgana; his only family who had stood by his side for as long as he could remember. Despite disagreeing with Uther on numerous occasions, Arthur had nothing but respect and love for his King. All he could hope was that his actions today would make his father proud. Morgana, he knew would pleased with his course of action as she had always believed that he would be a great ruler one day.

Then, his mind went to Gaius; the old physician who had nursed him back to health more times than he could count, often with a reprimand about being careful. He was practically family, Uther's confidant and a silent pillar of support to all who need it.

Arthur's heart clenched painfully as he realised the bittersweet nature of his affections. He might never see the beautiful Guinevere again; the only person that his heart had ever truly belonged to. He could only hope that should he perish but the kingdom still stand, she would remember him fondly throughout her life.

Lastly, his thoughts went to his manservant, lying unconscious and wounded within the castle walls. Because, standing on the precipice of his demise, Arthur could not deny that he held Merlin close to his heart. The dynamic of their relationship was that they hated each other, but deeply cared for one another at the same time. Before Merlin had arrived, Arthur had been sinking in a world of empty friendships and fake expressions of devotion. Without the gawky boy, the prince dreaded to think what would have become of him.

He was scarcely aware that Sir Bors had departed as he turned his head back to the advancing massacre. He wished that he could imagine that Merlin would be able to live on after all this was over, to be able to think back on his master and smile at their time together. But all Arthur saw was the violent wound upon a pale brow; one that had 'fatal' etched all over it.

In the midst of battle, there was a harsh rule that even the most basic of wounds could prove lethal. So many soldiers had suffered and died of wounds that could have been easily treated in any other situation. He feared that Merlin would be no exception to that rule and despite Gaius' clear prowess as a physician, their predicament plotted against them.

As such, Arthur only thought one thing as he reflected on the loyalty of his servant – of his best friend. A battle cry rose from his lips as he struck out furiously at his opponents, his last thought that was independent of warfare constantly echoing around his head.

"_I'll see you soon Merlin." _

_

* * *

_

_Another cliffhanger? It's not as bad as the last one at least :P._

_ Thanks for your patience so far! __Please review and let me know what you think of it so far - all of your responses have been most helpful and supportive :D._

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_Hello everyone! :)_

_Sorry for the wait; it's getting ridiculously busy as we get closer to exams (argh!). Weird to think that in a month or so, it'll be the end of my 14 years in education really *celebrates* ;)._

_Anyway, this chapter's the mini-kinda-climax of the battle (e.g. where in the episode, Merlin confronts Morgana and displays his amazing agility at dodging her attacks :O). I've tried to put my own spin on it a little, but I'm trying to keep it as close to the show as possible._

_Thanks so much for your patience, reviews and alerts: brightens up a dull, tiring day when I see them :)._

_Well, enough of my rambles, I hope you all enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 5

A chill swept through Gaius' frame as he descended deeper into the crypts. The tingling sensation beneath his skin, a reaction to the powerful enchantment, had increased and it took all his willpower to resist the urge to start scratching at the hidden itch.

The glowing orb led him further into the cavernous vaults and he focussed entirely on the light, drawing comfort from the fact that it was a part of Merlin. Worry rose in the forefront of his mind as he remembered the poor condition his ward had been in when he had left. He was forced to remind himself that as long as the floating sphere remained with him, Merlin would still be alive.

A thundering rumble somewhere above shook the foundations of Camelot's walls, causing the old physician to stumble. His knees buckled and he found himself ploughing harshly into the nearest wall, fingernails digging into stone in a desperate attempt to maintain balance. Dust plunged over him in a suffocating blanket and he quickly covered his mouth with his sleeve, squeezing his eyes closed until the collapse had passed.

He heard the heavy thud of rocks all around him and tensed, waiting for the fatal blow to strike him about the head. Squinting through tightly crushed lids, he saw a large boulder hurtling towards him and flinched. Yet, even as he shut his eyes against what would most certainly be his death, he imagined he saw the rock rebounding away from him without ever having made contact. The harsh thuds of further falling rubble, however, quickly erased this peculiar stroke of fortune from his mind. The physician waited, and waited in his hunched position, but no debris struck him and he welled with utter gratefulness for small favours.

After what seemed like hours, the ground returned to its original stability and Gaius let out the exhale he had been holding. His lids tentatively peeled back, opening to reveal the dirt-covered hallway, barely standing after the last quake. The physician coughed harshly, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve as he pushed himself upright.

Small trickles of dust continued to fall like miniature waterfalls around him, casting the crypts in an even more disturbing portrait. It clung to his face and clothes with the stubbornness of a devoted child and Gaius decided to ignore it; it was a pointless endeavour to try and restore some form of hygiene in these times anyhow. Around him, as though placed there in someone's elaborate design, were a small pile of rocks. He frowned, studying them with disbelief before nudging the pile with one foot. The rocks tumbled down the stairs, assuring Gaius in one slight action that they were, in fact, real.

Darkness seeped into every pore, the dust only acting as an oppressive cloud in the deep. Nervously, Gaius lowered his foot down a step, wondering why he was suddenly finding the descent much more terrifying now than before.

It came to him a second later. His guide, the radiant ball of light, had vanished.

A panic unlike any other gripped at the old man's chest, threatening to strike him down where he stood. _No, it can't be… _But there was no other explanation. Merlin's magic was instinctive; so much so that the warlock could still harness it when he was, otherwise, considered to be comatose. If the orb had vanished, it could only mean one thing.

"Merlin…"

Grief, more poignant than any he had ever felt during the Great Purge, forced Gaius to draw to an immediate standstill. His mouth gaped uselessly, silently forming the shape of his most cherished ward over and over. Tears welled in his eyes and, even had he been prideful, he could never blame his sudden blurred vision on the dust in the air.

Somewhere in the broken recesses of his mind, he knew that he had to keep moving. If he were to falter now, Morgana and Morgause's plan would succeed and Camelot, along with all its citizens, would fall. But he could not take that next step – not just yet.

With one hand planted securely on the wall for support, Gaius bowed his head in unspoken lament. He remembered the first time the warlock had entered his chambers and how his first defining act within Camelot's walls had been to save an old man's life. He had been such an uncertain thing back then; so lacking in faith of his own worth and destiny. It seemed as though, in tragic symmetry to his first noble act, it had also been his last.

Ever since that day, Merlin had proved himself again and again as the kingdom's veiled protector. He had defeated menacing enemies, saved everyone one hundred times over, almost sacrificed himself in his selfless quests and, most importantly of all, never asked for any gratitude. Because, although both Gaius and Merlin knew he would never receive it and despite the warlock's chastised complaints, Merlin would never ask for appreciation for something he would do without a moment's hesitation.

Fuelled by this love for his ward, Gaius' eyes snapped open and he quickly moved down the stairs into the dark. His fears were smothered by the adoration he held as he raced towards the source of the enchantment. He knew, with a hint of unease, that Morgana would linger somewhere in the crypts and he wondered at his own strength in defeating her.

_What if I am not strong enough?_

He realised that his question was entirely irrelevant. Even if it meant that he was marching to his death, he would do everything possible to end the enchantment. Perhaps Morgana would kill him in his attempts or after his success; he desperately hoped if he was to die, it would be the latter.

The physician reached the end of the stairs, striding towards the vaults where he could sense the magical source emanating its power. The tiny hairs on his arms were standing submissively to attention and Gaius realised he had made it.

He had found the source.

* * *

There were too many injured, Gwen noticed, rushing from person to person and trying to administer the little aid she could. Her skilled seamstress hands had made quick work of bandaging any open wounds, but the more serious lesions were beyond her. Thankfully - and she never thought she _could_ be thankful to the man - Uther had instantly called on guards to insert pressure on such injuries until proper medical care could be given.

Blowing out an exhausted breath, hands coated in a thick layer of blood, Gwen glanced around in despair at the overflowing hospital. "Gaius, where are you?"

It had been several long, trying minutes since the court physician had left them. Other less experienced physicians had been fighting valiantly to help those in need, but their skills were shamed by Gaius'. Already, so many people had lost the battle for life, their bodies being regretfully left in one of the corners of the room to make space for those who still had a chance.

_If the battle continues like this, _the maid squeezed her eyes closed, wiping her hands clean on a nearby cloth. She found herself scrubbing needlessly at her skin, the warm sensation of blood becoming a lasting scar in her mind. _We are not going to last._

A harsh grumble, the result of some explosion upon the castle walls, caused the ground to shake violently and Gwen staggered to a side. She slammed hard into one of the beds, managing to hold her own weight so as not to further the patient laid on it. Eyes widening in horror, Gwen watched as the stones around them began to tremble, threatening to give way at any moment.

_Please, oh please no._

Camelot's strength held, however, as the shaking stopped and the hospital occupants were permitted to find their feet. The maid gasped, pushing away from the bed and murmuring an apology to its shocked lodger. Her fears for their survival had now increased tenfold, now all too aware that if Cenred's soldiers – both living and dead – did not kill them, the blasts of fire would.

Her gaze scanned the hospital wearily, flitting from one pale face to another and, with regret, she found herself viewing them as the departed. Another body was being evicted from its bed by the guards, blood dripping from its mutilated form as it was held between them. Clearly, the last explosion had been too much for their injuries.

Something sank deep within the pit of her stomach at the thought and the serving girl found her eyes flicking towards a familiar patient. As her gaze found him, she was instantly moving, dodging skilfully between beds in her haste to reach his side. Because, despite her lack of medical expertise, she was certain that nobody should ever be thrashing like Merlin was now.

"Merlin!"

Her voice cracked as she called out for him, all but throwing herself over his chest in an attempt to still his jerking frame. As his head slammed back repeatedly on the cot, she caught a glimpse of rolling eyes beneath their heavily charred lids, flashing their whites in harmony with Merlin's seizure. A sob caught in her throat, but any sorrow was instantly quelled as the force of her friend's movements threatened to fling her aside.

Another set of arms appeared in her peripheral vision, pressing down hard upon Merlin's upper chest and shoulders. The strength of her assistant allowed her to gain ground in her battle with the manservant's convulsions and she held him down firmly. _Merlin…_

The seizure seemed to go on for an eternity; the sheet Gaius had placed over his ward now tangled wildly around Merlin's twitching limbs. Vaguely, Gwen thought she had glimpsed something glowing in one of the boy's clammy palms, but, upon blinking, it was gone and disregarded as nothing more than a trick of the light. He lurched again and she pinched her lids together, visibly struggling not to give way to tears at her friend's torment.

Beneath her, she felt the tension in Merlin's muscles suddenly slacken and released her hold. No more than a second later and the boy slumped entirely, haphazard limbs dangling over the edge of his bed: a puppet on broken strings.

A shaking exhale caused her to deflate and, attempting to regain some composure, she raised her gaze to thank her helper. "Thank y…" She broke off in surprise as she came face to face with the King, his gaze as sincere as always when it steadily met her own. Hastily, she executed a bow. "Thank you, my Lord."

Without replying, Uther levered himself upright, hissing as it pulled on his wounded leg. He absently waved a hand to prevent Gwen's assistance before limping back towards his designated bed and the people who remained completely unaware as to what had just transpired.

_Why did he…?_

Her queries as to why the indifferent monarch had decided to help her - a simple maid - in aiding Merlin - a simple manservant - were abruptly interrupted as the patient in question retched beneath her. The sound grated painfully through her eardrums and, with the gentleness of a caring mother, she tilted his head to the side. Soothing him and stroking his pale cheek, Gwen winced at the black fluid that trickled from the boy's unresponsive lips. She had assumed that the soot had been cleared from his lungs; obviously, this was not the case.

"Gaius, I need you here," she whispered, caressing her friend's face as barking coughs wrenching through his body. "Merlin needs you here."

The hacking soon gave way and with a weak breath, Merlin became lax under her touch. Concern shimmered in her expression as she leant closer, saying his name delicately and urging him to reply. Her heart skipped a beat as he refused to answer her and she moved her palm in front of his lips.

One second, two seconds, three… But there was no warm air along her skin, proof that he was still living. She paused for a moment longer, chest constricting in horror at what she already knew to be true.

Merlin was not breathing.

* * *

The vaults oozed with raw magic; seeping out of every crevice and smothering the entire room. When he first entered, Gaius had had to linger momentarily to control his senses. He was not used to being in the presence of such powerful, unleashed enchantments and he was most certainly out of practise in repelling them.

As he rounded the pillar, he saw Morgana's slim figure facing away from him, gazing towards the ceiling in silent contemplation. A thrum of magic reverberated through him once more and he found his gaze drawn to a wooden staff in the centre of the crypts. It appeared to have been made from an old branch of a tree, seeming to be withered and aged over a great many years. In its core, atop the outreaching limbs, was a glowing gem, lighting up the otherwise shadowy place.

The staff was the source, he could feel it.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Gaius strode forth, inwardly pondering on how exactly he was going to destroy the wooden cane. Before he managed to reach within three feet of it, Morgana spun on her heels to face him, murderous intent etched into her beautiful features.

The physician drew to a stop at the glare, softened slightly by the small hint of surprise in her emerald eyes. The look disappeared a moment later, to be replaced by utter amusement with a fitting smirk to match. "Gaius?"

Saying nothing, Gaius glanced at the staff out of the corner of his eyes. His intelligent mind was working furiously to discover how to destroy the blasted thing without Morgana killing him first. He cursed his lack of creativity. Merlin, he had no doubt, would have done something reckless on instinct and come out the victor as always. At the tender thought, Gaius barely withheld a wince as the flood of grief rose up to consume him once more.

"Gaius?" the mocking tone of voice dragged the old man back into the moment, his own eyes narrowing in contempt at the woman before him. "This is who opposes me; an old physician nearing the end of his time."

A small flinch tugged at his features as the cold words struck him bluntly. He struggled to meet Morgana's eyes and not remember the person she had once been; compassionate, caring and above all, good. But, as he took in the lips that curled in cruelty and the hard glaze that had set over her vibrant orbs, he knew that she would never be the Morgana he had loved so dearly again.

"Morgana, why are you doing this?"

"Even you must know why, Gaius."

Drawing in a rough inhale, Gaius made a calculated step towards the staff, scarcely perceptible in his miniscule movements. The Lady, however, noticed. Within moments, the harsh grate of a sword being unsheathed compelled the old man to freeze in his movements. The blade glinted callously in the radiance of the staff, aiming with a steady hand directly at his heart.

"Do not be foolish," she warned, the smirk gone from her face until only sheer anger remained. "I can assure you that I am much faster than you can ever hope to be."

It was Gaius' turn to smile now as he raised his hands in complacence. "Of that I have no doubt, my Lady. You always did have an aptitude for swordplay. You and Arthur were almost perfectly matched in training. I was told by the knights that you had once beaten him in a duel."

Morgana remained silent, the sword held at a steady level towards the old man. Her expression gave nothing away, but, priding himself upon being a good judge of character, Gaius could only hope that he caught a glimpse of uncertainty in her glare. He knew that she would never abandon the side that she had chosen, but if he could play on her emotions just long enough, there was a chance that he could destroy the source.

"Arthur denied it, of course," he continued, lowering his raised hands but choosing to stay still, as though approaching a wounded animal. "His pride was too great to admit it, especially to you. I believe he felt that he would be surrendering in your contest of sibling rivalry. The two of you always did have an interesting method for challenging each other..."

"Is this sentimental speech going anywhere, Gaius?" the Lady spat a little too harshly, eyes narrowing as she edged closer. "Do you honestly think that reminding me of my past will do anything to stop this?"

Unable to formulate a safe answer, Gaius found his gaze flicking to the staff. The Lady interpreted his intent and edged so that her body shielded the source from sight, the blade now pointing at the older man's throat. "I would really rethink what you are about to try and do, physician."

"I am not entirely sure what you me..."

"Do _not _try and play me," she hissed, the tip of the sword now so close to Gaius' neck that he had to tilt his head back slightly to avoid it coming into contact. Her eyes blazed with the furies of a thousand dying suns and threatened to overwhelm the physician if he held their glare for too long. "You pose little threat to me and so long as you continue to know your place, I will let you go. I am offering you a chance to leave and trust me Gaius; very few others will be granted such luxury."

Swallowing slowly, Gaius lowered his gaze to the shimmering blade, the steady hand offering silent relief as he paused. He glimpsed her move back a step with her weapon still raised and, furiously trying to discover a way to slip past her, he hardly heard her present the offer a second time.

"Morgana," he began with forced calmness, "you have known me for your entire life. You know that that is not an option for me."

The insufferable smirk wound its way onto her pale face and Gaius straightened, meeting her victorious expression with a stoic one of his own. Her stance was almost relaxed where she stood, clearly not expecting any resistance. Unfortunately for Gaius, he did not think that he would offer any form of defiance. He was pondering various possible defensive spells – well aware that, should they survive the battle, Morgana would alert Uther to his use of sorcery – but coming up empty. He cursed the deterioration of memory that walked hand in hand with age, readying himself as the slightest tense raced through Morgana's frame.

"Then you shall die."

As the ward of Camelot made to strike, a cracking rumble above forced Gaius' gaze upward. The ceiling had begun to splinter, heavy rocks breaking away towards them. With widening eyes, the physician leapt backwards, noticing that the rock fall appeared to be concentrated above where they were stood. Or, more specifically, where Morgana was stood...

Seconds after Gaius had glanced towards the ceiling, Morgana had followed suit. A strangled scream of surprise had rent from her throat, the sword rising up in a futile attempt to protect herself as heavy rocks fell solely upon her. One, despite her flailing arms, made forceful contact with her head and she crumpled, unconscious before she had even hit the floor.

Surprise did not even begin to cover the extent of Gaius' emotions as he studied the fallen woman. He glanced again to the ceiling, noting the small crevice directly above where Morgana lay. _That was more than just good fortune. _

"Merlin?" he whispered, hoping for some form of reply. The glow of the staff cast itself strongly over him, illuminating the sword on the floor. Jolting into action, Gaius rushed forward, retrieving the weapon and approaching the source of the enchantment immediately. He paused before it, gripping the handle with both hands as the light pulsed before him.

_This is for you, Merlin. _

Hoisting the sword higher, Gaius swung it with full strength at the staff. The unfamiliarity of the action was lost on him as he threw all of his desperation and fear into the attack, feeling the smallest resistance as the wood began to splinter. Then, with a resounding crack, the staff splintered and exploded in brilliant white light.

The physician panted, dropping the sword and studying the flecks of light that began to disintegrate like fireflies around him. He had done it. The enchantment was broken.

* * *

_No Arthur (sadly), but Gwen-lovers should be chuffed, despite my lack of real care for her. Sorry people, but it's mostly 'cause we all know what she does in the legend - although I thought she was great in the first season when she showed her close friendship with Merlin. Oh, and what did you think about the humane side of Uther? Why do you think he helped? :)_

_Yeah, the resolution was a lot like in the show, but I loved how they dealt with it. Anyway, please, **please** review and let me know what you think! _

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)  
_


	6. Chapter 6

_Hello everyone! :)_

_Thanks so, **so **much for all the brilliant responses so far. Hopefully, this story won't fizzle out as so many of my past multi-chapter stories have in the past. Fingers crossed, right? ;)_

_And don't worry Arthur fans! The gorgeous prince pretty much dominates this entire chapter (since he didn't appear in the last one). Plus, there's a hint of Merlin/Arthur bromance; one-sided, but it's the best I can do at the moment :P. _

_Anyway, I'll shut up rambling now. Hope you all enjoy it!_

* * *

Chapter 6

His arms were heavy as he struggled to swing his sword again. After a brief attempt at forcing the dead soldiers away from the citadel, Arthur had been forced to retreat inside. Each step backward increased the sense of failure upon his heart, but he still faced his enemy, refusing to turn his back.

In the castle corridor, the ringing of clashing swords pulsated through his ears and he was pushed back again. The prince grunted, pressing a hand to the bleeding wound on his upper arm; unfortunately, the one that was holding his weapon. Pulling the hand away, he frowned at the amount of blood layering his skin. Perhaps pure exhaustion would not be his murderer; blood loss was fast becoming a potential competitor.

The maniacal grin captured his attention again and the skeleton swung at his neck. Arching his back, the blade skimmed his flesh by inches and Arthur stumbled, his own blade rising in preparation for further attacks. He absently wondered if the rest of his knights had succeeding in creating a blockade on the bridge. As it was, it probably did not matter anyway; the enemy was already within the castle walls.

The skeleton attacked again and Arthur raised his weapon to block. His arm trembled under the force of the hit and he cursed his weakness in the face of battle. He doubted his ability to maintain a hold of his sword, let alone defend himself with it. A part of him wanted to purely accept defeat, but his pride and duty to his kingdom refused such respite.

_I will not give up._

Determined, Arthur initiated his own assault, swiping for the creature's ribcage in an attempt to disable it. It anticipated the move, blocking with ease and proceeding to drive him back again. Sweat dripped from the prince's brow and he gasped, his blade ascending to shield his head from the high blow. The smash of the skeleton's weapon forced him to his knees and he grunted, struggling to prevent the sword from completing its attack. His opponent loomed over him, the cruel grin seeming to impossibly widen as the dead soldier sensed Arthur's end.

Then, the skeleton seemed to freeze. Unbearable pressure on his arms lessened and, with an expression of utter surprise, Arthur watched as his enemy crumbled before him. Bones crashed down into a neat pile, the sword following suit and falling before the prince's knees.

"What...?" Arthur glanced around uncertainly, waiting for someone to answer his puzzled question. When no reply was forthcoming, the cerulean orbs dropped to the pile of bones and Arthur found a small shrug working its way into his aching shoulders. "Okay then."

Hesitantly, the blonde knight regained his feet, one hand asserting pressure on his bleeding injury. His gaze flitted to the rest of the corridor where, in the faint glare of flames, he could see further heaps of bones; all that remained of the dead army.

Confused, but grateful as to what had destroyed the skeletons, Arthur turned to make his way to the hospital. He hoped that his distraction had prevented the dead army access to their wounded, but he had to confirm it for himself. After that, he could join the others on the front line against Cenred's soldiers.

Hope filled him as he ran towards the hospital and he allowed it to grant him strength that had previously been absent. There was still a chance that they could win this.

* * *

"Merlin, please!"

Fear, almost as poignant as the time when she had discovered that her father had been arrested, filled Gwen to the brim and she found herself desperately shaking her friend. It had been several minutes since Merlin had stopped breathing and the maidservant was in despair. She did not know how to save him and that was what was torturing her.

All that she could do was stand here and watch him die.

Tears streaming down her face, her nails dug sharply into his shoulders. Nausea curled within the pit of her stomach at the sight of his skinny frame being jerked violently by her actions, but she refused to stop. She could not let him die. He was her best friend, the most kind, gentle soul that she had ever met. He was the first person to ever really notice her for _who_ she was.

"Breathe, Merlin!" she ordered, her voice cracking on his name. The pale face tilted backwards as she shook him again, his lips parted with no sign of drawing in air. "Come on, Merlin. Please, you have to breathe."

She paused, waiting for him to respond to her pleas. Unsuccessfully, the maid tried to control her own rapid breathing, her vision blurring while she hovered over his still frame. He remained entirely pliant in her grasp, his courageous heart seeming to lessen in its beats beneath her. It would not be long until it ceased all together.

_Merlin, stay with us._

At that moment, the maid would have liked to claim that her thoughts had somehow reaching the dying boy and urged him to take breath, but she would never be prideful enough to make such declarations. Nevertheless, Merlin appeared to hear her and took a rattling breath; one so grating and painful that it made Gwen flinch from where she lingered beside him.

Seeming to gulp down air desperately, Merlin deflated in an instant, sprawling back over the table only moments after reviving. With a hint of concern, Gwen leant close, relief filling her from the core outwards upon hearing his steady breaths. She was not entirely sure what had just happened, but he was alive – that was all that mattered. And so, she remained poised over her friend for several moments longer, just grateful that he was still with her.

A sudden loud pounding on the sealed hospital doors caused the inhabitants to gasp, all eyes swivelling in trepidation towards them. Sir Geraint grimly drew his sword, aiming it towards the rattling wood as guards rallied behind them. Gwen huddled over Merlin's body, determined to protect him no matter what. Their defence had fallen and the enemy had arrived at their door.

"Open the door!"

The maid frowned, uncurling herself from her protective posture over Merlin. That voice sounded familiar and, as their visitor shouted again from the other side of the door, realisation struck her. "That is no enemy soldier..."

"It is Arthur," called out Uther, struggling to his feet with difficulty. Wincing as his wound pulled, the elder Pendragon finally managed to draw himself upright, his expression brimming with authority despite the pain. "Open the door, _now!_"

At the order, the guards instantly raced forth, unbarring the door and wrenching it open to reveal the exhausted, bloodied prince. Arthur stumbled into the hospital, clutching at a wound on his arm and panting heavily. Upon noticing the guards beginning to bar the door again, he stopped them with a wave of his uninjured arm, "No, that is no longer necessary."

"My Lord?"

"Cenred's army still attacks," Arthur spoke loudly, turning to face the occupants of the hospital as he did so. "But the enchanted dead within the walls have been defeated. We no longer have to fight a battle on two fronts."

Applause exploded throughout the hospital and Gwen smiled with pride as Arthur began to venture further into the room, ducking his head away from the praise. She had often wondered if there would be a day when the prince shied away from praise – he had changed a great deal over the past few years.

Clasping Geraint on the arm as he passed, Arthur's eyes widened as he noticed his father hobbling towards him and instantly leapt forth to ease his steps. "Father, you must rest. Your injury is serious."

Ignoring the words, Uther gently gripped his son's wounded arm, tilting the bleeding gash towards him. Sincere eyes narrowed upon studying the injury, noting the way in which Arthur tensed at the slightest touch. "This wound is deep, Arthur." He turned, gaze focussing on the young maid in the lavender dress nearest to them and he beckoned her over. "Tend to his wound."

Without waiting for a reply, he slapped his son affectionately on the shoulder before releasing him and limping towards the nearest cot. A guard rushed forth to assist him and he left Arthur to the attentions of the maid, knowing that the time for talking – something which both Pendragons appeared to need - was not yet at hand.

Cerulean eyes watched the monarch go before they swivelled to the approaching woman, his lips quirking as he recognised her. "Guinevere," he greeted softly, noting the light blush that coloured her cheeks at the use of her full name.

"Sire," she curtsied lightly, her relief upon seeing him safe encompassing her fully. "Please, come this way." With grace, she turned and led him to a free cot, easing him down and studying his injury with a sympathetic gaze. "This wound is deep, Arthur. I do not think that I can treat it fully."

"A bandage will do for now."

Gwen nodded, rushing away to retrieve some dressing and leaving Arthur to his thoughts. The respite upon reaching the hospital doors to find them still barred had eased the pain from his arm; to know that the people were safe was an elated feeling. But, as he glanced around the room, he could not help but notice the heap of dead bodies in the far corner, placed there to make room for the living.

As an agonising thought entered his mind, he wondered if Merlin resided somewhere in that pile. He jerked his gaze away, the image of his pale, bloodied servant thrown carelessly into the corner beginning to turn his stomach.

Exhaling heavily, he blinked his gaze upwards towards a cot several feet away. Through his exhausted mind, the charred tan boots facing him began to register and he was on his feet within seconds. He tuned out the sound of Gwen shouting to him, his vision tunnelled to the familiar footwear before him.

"Merlin."

The prince drew to a sharp stop by his servant's side, inwardly wincing upon seeing the grave wound along the boy's brow again. The pallid face was angled away and with a tenderness that betrayed his indifferent facade, Arthur was reaching out to tilt Merlin's head towards him.

"Merlin?" he whispered softly, eyes scanning the boy's clammy complexion for any sign of consciousness. There was none and, for one petrifying moment, Arthur thought that he was dead, "Merlin!"

A hand rested softly on his shoulder and an even softer voice stilled the prince from shrugging the touch off. "Arthur, he is still alive." Hidden from Gwen's view, Arthur's eyes slid closed, his lips forming words of silent relief. "But he is badly injured."

"Where is Gaius?"

The grip on his shoulder tightened reflexively, but no answer was forthcoming. With tremendous effort, the younger Pendragon dragged his stare away from the unconscious boy to the hesitant looking maid. "Guinevere, where is Gaius?"

"Arthur, nobody has seen him since you ordered to seal off the hospital. Sir Geraint told me that he had left to find supplies for the gravely injured people here, but he has not been seen since."

The graveness of the maid's words struck Arthur deeply and he found himself subconsciously staring towards the open hospital doors. The facts were that Gaius was an old man and the risen skeletons were more than a match for Camelot's finest knights. The length of time that he had been gone for suggested a scenario that struck deeply within the prince's chest and he found himself trying to disregard it.

"Arthur?"

"You said that he was going to find supplies?" Gwen nodded. "But he must have crossed the courtyard to get to his chambers. I was fighting in the courtyard for a long time and I did not see him pass. Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes, Sir Geraint told me," Gwen replied earnestly, deep eyes shimmering in concern. "Besides, it would make sense. Many of the people are too badly wounded to be treated by common medicines and Gaius would know which ones he needed."

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Arthur attempted to comprehend all that he had been told. Gaius was missing. Gaius had gone searching for potions that could help the gravely ill. Gaius had gone to search for something that could help Merlin. Merlin was still ill. Merlin needed Gaius and the potions he had gone searching for.

Arthur needed to find Gaius, now.

"I have to go," the prince announced, already preparing to turn and race back into the fray. A light grip on his uninjured arm stilled him and, with a frown, he turned back to face Gwen. "Guinevere?"

A pair of deep eyes swam with concern; her anxiety for Merlin and Gaius almost overwhelming the clarity of her mind. However, her worries extended further than to just her two closest friends and, holding up the retrieved bandages, she whispered one word: "Please."

The blonde prince's eyebrows creased further, until the harsh mask of warfare peeled away into a softened expression. Bowing his head lightly, he watched as she swiftly dressed his wound, tightening the material and securing it with well practised ease. Upon finishing the last knot, her fingers lightly rested atop the white dressing; in their hidden relationship, the equivalent of holding each others' hands.

"I will return soon, with Gaius. Keep an eye on Merlin for me."

The dark, curled hair nodded sharply and Gwen pulled her hand away. A weak smile quirked the corners of her mouth and she retreated back until she stood beside Merlin. Unwillingly, Arthur's gaze flicked from the maid to his manservant, his chest constricting painfully in a way that he had never felt before. Before he could allow the sensation to overwhelm him, he briskly turned and marched toward the hospital doors.

Upon reaching the exit, Geraint walked to meet him, inclining his head in respect, "Prince Arthur."

"Sir Geraint," Arthur replied in kind, grasping the knight strongly on the shoulder. "You have done well here, thank you."

"It is only my duty, Sire. All I wish for now is to drive Cenred and his army from our walls," his face contorted in silent anger and compassionate mocha eyes flared. "What kind of coward attacks a kingdom where their King suffers from an illness?"

Lowering his arm from the knight's shoulder, Arthur merely shook his head. In truth, he understood that not all played by the set rules of war; a King with a malady indicated a higher chance of victory after all. But he had been raised to know the honour involved in combat and the respect for the warriors that you fought against. Clearly, in times such as these, he would have to learn more about the art of deception in warfare.

"Come," he managed eventually, pivoting to leave. "There is still a battle to be won."

Not waiting to see if the knight followed – and already knowing that he would – Arthur broke into a sprint as he raced down the corridor. His heart was wracked with indecision as he approached the courtyard; his feet and those of Geraint a few paces behind him slapping heavily against the delicate stone. Going one way would lead to the bridge and the core of the battle against Cenred where his other knights were fighting. Going the other way would lead him to Gaius' chambers and, he prayed, the physician and his remedies for the injured.

Descending the stairs into the courtyard, his cerulean eyes flicking from one direction to the next, he was torn: the literal presentation of a crossroads.

"Sire? Sire, are you alright?"

Blinking sharply, Arthur glanced around to see the concerned expression of Geraint beside him. Only just realising that he had stopped moving at the base of the stairs that led inside, he shook his head slowly. "I just..."

The young Pendragon broke off, gaze wavering from one direction to another. He heard Geraint enquiring to his health – _although my sanity deserves more enquiries after today – _but he did not answer. He feared that if he did not go to fight at the bridge, the kingdom would suffer for his ill choice. And yet, he could only wonder if he was being too prideful in his importance.

_The fate of a kingdom cannot rest on one man's shoulders, _he reasoned, glancing towards the indigo night sky and absently wondering if it was possible to count of the stars that shone out there. _Only together can battles be won and my knights could be no truer brothers to one another. But, if I join them, I will not be standing with him._

And therein lay the dilemma. Standing beside his knights in combat perhaps could glorify him in their success and efforts, but by abandoning the search for Gaius and remedies for the ill, he was perhaps condemning the truest brother – despite his astonishment at the realisation – that he had ever found.

Without Gaius, Merlin would not be cured. Without Arthur, Gaius may not be found. The choice, it turned out, was simple.

"Sir Geraint," he eventually spoke, piercing stare locking instantly on the knight's. "Go to the bridge and help Sir Leon. I will be there soon."

With that, the prince raced in the opposite direction to the knights, leaving behind a baffled Geraint who, only after a few moments hesitation, obeyed his leader's orders. Arthur cleared the courtyard in moments, following the familiar route to the physician's and Merlin's chambers. He sprinted desperately forth whilst ascending the stairs, his sword swinging protectively ahead of him as he went: just in case any threat still loomed within Camelot's walls.

"Gaius!" he called out, even before he had actually reached the chamber door. Slamming it open, his sword aimed accurately forth, he gazed around the familiar room. "Gaius?"

With a noticeable lack of enemies and, worryingly, the old physician, Arthur sheathed his sword and strode through the chambers. His eyes strayed swiftly from books to potions; all in the vain hope that Gaius would appear from behind them with all the necessary remedies. When he finally reached the stairs to Merlin's room, he all but leapt up them, throwing open the door.

Sighing in concern, Arthur closed it again upon finding no sign of Gaius in the small room. "Gaius, where are you?"

His hand scrubbed tiredly through his golden locks and he pivoted on the spot, searching for some clue that Gaius had even been there at all. He eyed the numerous potions across the room, wondering if, as unknowledgeable as he was in the subject, he should take some back to the hospital. Surely one of them would be able to help Merlin...

However, he decided against it. He would not be able to stand the guilt if giving Merlin a random potion resulted in his already dire condition worsening further, perhaps even killing him.

"What kind of prince am I, who cannot even help his own servant?"

The inability to do anything that could aid his friend hurt much worse than the wound on his arm. Yes, he had carried Merlin away from the battle and delivered him to Gaius, but beyond that, he felt as though he had done little else. And now, with Gaius missing, he had no clue how to save both the elder guardian and his ward.

The proud head bowed forward slightly, Arthur's hand resting softly atop the physician's desk. Realising that there would be nobody to answer the question for him, he let out a bitter snort: "A useless one, apparently."

Honed senses forced him to tense upon hearing the patter of footsteps on the stairs that led towards him. Eyes narrowing, knowing full well that his knights were at the bridge and the people in the castle were in the hospital – either for treatment, to give aid, or for pure protection – he allowed his hand to steadily liberate the sword from its scabbard.

With silent steps, he approached the chamber door, leaning with his back against the wall beside it. The weapon was raised to his chest, its blade glimmering before him as he stared sideways at the entrance to the physician's room. The footsteps sounded louder and the prince tightened his grip a fraction on the handle.

_Come on, come on, _he thought silently, taut like a bowstring preparing to fire. From beneath the door, a shadow crept through the gap, shielding the light from the corridor. Arthur held his breath, cerulean orbs glinting: a hunter preparing to pounce on his prey.

Steadily, the door was pushed open with a whine. The slightest movement beside him had the prince moving, swinging around and grabbing the robes of the intruder. Without even looking, so practised at stealth due to his many years of training, Arthur swung the man around and slammed him hard into the opposite wall. The sharp blade was raised in the blink of an eye, levelling at a pale throat with ominous intent.

Flicking his glare to identify the intruder, the young Pendragon's eyes widened and he instantly wrenched the weapon backwards. His mouth gaped for a second, until relief flooded him and he smiled softly at the bedraggled man stood before him.

"Hello Gaius."

* * *

_I was wondering if I should make it a cliffhanger as to who it was, but I think I've been mean enough :P_

_Please review and let me know what you thought of this chapter! Thanks for sticking with me so far :)_

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_Hello everyone! :)_

_Wow, thank you for the reception so far - I've been honestly flattered by reviews/favourites/alerts. _

_This chapter's a little bit shorter than usual and I'm sorry for that: it just worked out that it was the best place to cut it off so I could move on from this section._

_Anyway, I hope that you all enjoy it! :D_

* * *

Chapter 7

The physician gaped for a moment, his heart still beating so fast that he feared it would soon give out all together. The blonde prince before him, still smiling lightly, backed away and returned his weapon back to its scabbard.

Swallowing a few times, leaning heavily on the wall he had been slammed up against, Gaius inclined his head slightly, "Sire. I am..." he had to pause for a second, realising instantly that there were several choice words at present that he could use to describe himself. Finally, he decided to not even acknowledge his own shock and instead replied: "I am glad to see you are well."

"You too," Arthur answered immediately, offering a hand to help up the elder man from where he slumped against the wall. "I am sorry for, you know, startling you."

Accepting the proffered hand graciously, Gaius brushed off the apology with ease. "It is quite alright, Sire. Although, if you do not mind my asking, why are you in my chambers?"

"I was looking for you. Guinevere told me that you had left in search of remedies for the ill before the hospital had been sealed." Brow furrowing, the prince tilted his head and raised a hand in contemplation. "Wait, why weren't _you_ in your chambers?"

The old man's face seemed to whiten, before he regained his composure and strode forth. He dodged neatly around the prince's still form and raced over to the shelf of potions. Arthur narrowed his eyes, turning around swiftly and trying to control his annoyance at being so easily ignored. He watched as Gaius reached up to the top shelf, the clinking of glass indicating his search for a certain vial.

"Gaius, answer me."

The physician paused, but then began rummaging faster and the prince's frown deepened. He watched as Gaius pulled down a vial, twisting to place it on the table behind him, before delving into the shelves for another. The old man's hands seemed to shake as he browsed the potions and, when Arthur realised why, the harsh line of his brow softened.

_He is panicking. _

Moving forward, Arthur gently placed a hand on the physician's shoulder, feeling Gaius tense beneath his touch. The elder man remained still, one arm still straining upward in search of a remedy, his chest rising and falling in sharp breaths.

"Does he... does he still live?"

The broken tone stunned the young Pendragon for a moment: he had forgotten how much Gaius treated Merlin like a son and, likewise, how Merlin treated him like a father. Giving the trembling shoulder a small squeeze, unaccustomed and uncertain as to how else he could provide comfort, Arthur replied, "Yes, Gaius. He is alive."

Seeming to deflate at his words, Gaius dropped his hand from the shelf. He turned solemnly to face the blonde prince and Arthur almost recoiled upon seeing the tears swimming in the physician's eyes. "I thought I had been gone too long."

"No, he is still with us. Gwen is caring for him now." The prince watched as the older man nodded, a shaking hand rising to wipe away the evidence of potential tears. Stepping forth, Arthur gently placed his hand upon Gaius' shoulder, coaxing the watery gaze to meet his own. "But he needs urgent care, Gaius. You are the only one capable of giving him that."

The comforting words seemed to ignite a newfound strength within the physician and he nodded. "Yes," he murmured softly, turning away from Arthur's hold and searching with much more precision than previously for the correct potions. The prince watched him silently, noting the skilful way that the long fingers skirted over labels before plucking specific bottles from the shelves. Soon, a neat collection of varying coloured potions rested upon the table and Arthur studied them curiously, wondering which one – or if indeed all them – held the key to Merlin's recovery.

"I believe they are all I shall need," Gaius eventually stated, peering at the chosen bottles before nodding in assertion. "Yes, these will be most beneficial to those gravely injured."

Glancing at the old man, feeling confident upon noticing the knowing expression on his face, Arthur straightened. He would have, had they been gifted with more time, liked to enquire as to which potions would be given to Merlin; mostly so he could thank the stars for the discovery of such a life-saving concoction. However, aware that the battle still continued to rage on their doorstep, he gestured to the door. "Shall we?"

Gaius swept the potions easily into his arms, cradling them as dearly as he would a newborn. He inclined his head in agreement and the prince turned, striding away with dominant steps that no longer weighed as heavily upon the ground. He drew his sword from its sheath, never afraid of being overcautious in such situations. Peering around the door into the corridor, the prince signalled for the physician to follow him and the pair made their way quickly towards the hospital.

It seemed that fate was finally smiling down upon them.

* * *

Morgana awoke with a groan, agony reverberating around her brain and originating from somewhere atop the crown of her head. She pressed a hand to it, hissing when the pain seemed to intensify. Her attempts at self-comfort were instantly disregarded. Steadily, her eyelids peeled back to reveal hazy emeralds, only showing clarity when they flashed in anger at her stroke of misfortune.

With a startling realisation, she pushed herself upright, gaze instantly lowering to the shattered staff on the floor. A scream of disbelief and fury tore from her, the green orbs alighting in a flash of ochre that sent the shards of wood careening violently across the crypt. "No!"

She cursed again, slamming her palm against the ground in juvenile rage. Her chest heaved with utter despair upon realising her failings; that Morgause's plan would never now come to fruition. The pale fingers curled into a fist from where they rested on the rubble-littered ground when she further damned the name of Gaius and his irritating act of heroism.

Rising unsteadily to her feet, Morgana blinked away the waves of dizziness and nausea that threatened to overwhelm her. She had already fashioned a lie to cover the truth of her being in the crypts and the destruction of the risen dead and knew that Uther, the blind creature that he was, would drink in her words like fine wine.

As she limped for the site of her unsuccessful venture, Morgana smirked to herself, vowing that the physician would pay for ruining their plan. She had underestimated the old physician the first time and had been caught unawares by the destruction of her own making. However, she had been partially correct in her earlier evaluation of the man who had opposed her.

He was nearing the end of his time.

* * *

He hurt.

That thought was the first, no, the _only _coherent thought that he was capable of forming. Fire danced and burned behind his eyes, relishing as it licked away at what remained of his self-preservation. A weak whimper rumbled in his throat, but he instantly silenced the sound. The awful grating along his sore airway was doing nothing to alleviate his struggles.

_Where am I?_

He focussed his energies upon his eyelids, trying to make them move. They refused to oblige and he almost swore in frustration. A line of agony stabbed through his skull once more and he vaguely felt his limbs twitch in response. Not one to give up so easily, he attempted again, his head pounding as he strained to accomplish what had once been such a simple action.

A searing pain erupted from where, he assumed, his eyes resided and he felt the lids begin to separate. Steadily, as though weighed down by weights, they began to draw back and he unwillingly moaned when they throbbed at the continuous movement. _Why do my eyes hurt...?_

The sound of echoing voices steadily filtered into his mind; one much louder than any others. A soft touch skirted along his brow as no more than a passing shadow and he found himself questioning if this was all his imagination. When the sounds returned in fluctuating resonance, he decided that there must be some form of reality, of _truth_ in this limbo he felt trapped within.

Struggling, the lids rose higher and he caught a glimpse of colour flash across his vision. On reflex, his eyes began to shut again and, with utter stubbornness, he fought against it. His head pounded harder when, after an arduous battle between his body and his mind, his eyes began to open once more. And this time, he did not flinch away.

The colours he saw before him were mesmerising. Spiralling strands of lavender swept around one another, twisting and turning in an endless dance that was utterly spellbinding to behold. Fine threads of pink wove at a slower pace through the dominant purple, bestowing gentle touches on its companions as it passed. The colours danced closer, seemingly embracing him in their beauty and offering him relief from his sufferings.

He watched them in awe, ignoring the tugging at his mind that bade him to unconsciousness and recovery. He needed to see them. The pirouetting shades filled him with a sensation of love and, peculiarly, made him feel cared for. Painfully, he raised a hand towards them and it was instantly enveloped in colour. He felt his skin being caressed and found that he was stunned by the familiarity of the touch.

"Merlin?"

He frowned, the voice no longer shrouded in echo and belonging to someone who he knew. He recognised the gentle, worried tones that were so often reserved for him. The same tone that had been spoken to him by one of the first people he had ever met in Camelot.

Before he could speak, agony erupted behind his eyes, much more pungent than before. He gasped, squeezing his eyes closed and sending his world back into darkness. Awareness began to flee with haste and Merlin slumped down against the table, a weary sigh whistling past his lips. The hold on his hand tightened while all of his other sensations dimmed, until only a bitter numbness remained. Before he succumbed to unconsciousness, the lingering question ignited once more within his mind.

_Gwen?_

* * *

_Morgana and her childish strops... they keep me amused :P_

_Please review and let me know what you think! Hopefully this chapter's raised a few questions which, so long as my muse keeps'a'flowing, will be answered :)_

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)_


	8. Chapter 8

_Hello everyone! :)_

_Thank you for all the wonderful reviews/favourites/alerts etc :D_

_I'm really sorry for such a gap in updates - my exams are coming up fast so I haven't had time for anything fun really. By the way, the next two months are gonna be hectic with revision for me so it may be a while before I can sort myself out and update again after this. Sorry :/_

_Anyway, I'll shut up now. Here's the next chapter and I hope you all enjoy it!_

* * *

Chapter 8

Arthur stared out solemnly over Camelot, his gaze skirting over the kingdom and managing to find some form of destruction whichever way he looked. He sighed, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, the rustle of chain mail seeming to echo in the silent room. Absently he recalled that he had been sent to his chambers for rest and, in his father's words, to "recover" from the battle.

Glancing down at himself, he grimaced upon seeing the shimmering crimson that stained his armour. The worst realisation, however, was that a very small amount of the blood belonged to his enemies. Arthur squeezed his eyes closed tightly whilst hoping, albeit with a futile hope, that it would remove the image of his wounded servant from his mind.

The prince had not discovered much about Merlin's condition following his search for Gaius. Upon reaching the courtyard, Arthur and the physician had gone their separate ways: Arthur had gone to the bridge in a bid to fully drive the enemy from their kingdom and Gaius had returned to the hospital, intent on saving the one thing in Camelot that truly mattered to him.

For Arthur's part, his battle had been won and with the aid of his loyal knights, they had driven Cenred's army from their home. He had watched as the soldiers scurried away in sudden realisation that victory would no longer be their blessing and had joined in the chant upon seeing the enemies' retreating backs.

Sighing, Arthur rubbed a dirt-encrusted hand along his jaw, the nauseating pang of worry settling in the pit of his stomach. Several hours had passed since Arthur had last seen the injured boy, and with their sudden victory again Cenred's men followed by immediate plans at restoration, his chances to visit him had been rather limited.

What if, in his absence, Merlin had died? What if his injuries were too grave for Gaius' talents and he had passed away without his knowing?

Tensing, Arthur made to turn for the door, but restrained himself immediately. No, had anything happened to Merlin, someone would have informed him. After all, Merlin was _his _servant, _his _annoyance and _his _responsibility. Surely he would be one of the first to be notified of a possible tragic circumstance… wouldn't he?

In his chest, he was certain he felt his heart literally sink down a few inches at the thought. He found his breaths drawing in sharply as he stared out at his kingdom's visible wounds, trying desperately to assure himself that Merlin was fine. Gwen would have told him. Gaius would have told him. Besides, he would have known if his manservant had lost his battle; somehow, in some way, Arthur would have known.

A sharp knock at the door made him flinch and, a little too quickly, he called for them to enter. He was already halfway across the room when a guard appeared before him. The man, to his credit, still managed to bow despite his apparent alarm at having the crown prince marching frantically in his direction. "My Lord," he greeted, even as Arthur drew to a stop before him. "The king requests your presence in the throne room."

The relief at those words quelled the surprising jolt in his chest upon the guard's entrance. Weakly, he nodded and gestured for the man to leave. Scrubbing a hand through his golden locks, he found he was instantly berating himself. Why was he getting so worked up over nothing? Merlin was fine. Merlin was _always _fine. He had nothing to worry about. The idiot was going to be his old, irritating, chirpy self in no time at all.

Exhaling steadily, Arthur made his departure from the chambers, only now realising that he had neglected to change. After rubbing a hand over his ash-smothered face, he studied his now blackened hand with a grimace. He considered returning to his room to change into something more appropriate, but rejected the idea with ease. Making his father wait was always a dangerous, ill-advised course of action, and Arthur was in no mood to be scalded.

As he strode down the corridor, he began thinking of an excuse as to his rather dishevelled appearance and as to why, he had yet to rest and freshen up. He realised bleakly that the justification that he had been too worried about Merlin would be a very poor one in the eyes of his father, and everyone else for that matter. He felt that he had no argument to oppose what he knew would be critical comments against such reasoning.

Worst of all, even he was unsure as to why his concern had elevated to such a level that he had been unable to function in the most basic of duties. He had been astonished at the way his heart had raced upon the fear that the gawky boy had passed away without his knowing. Why should he care so much?

After all, Merlin was just a servant.

* * *

The pain was intense. He had never felt anything like it before; or at least not consciously anyway. He had been told that his reaction to being poisoned by the Morteaus flower had been brutal, but, thankfully, he had not been aware enough to recall it. This particular torture, he realised, was focussed mainly around his eyes, but every pulsation of his heart sent waves of fire through his skull and tingling along the surface of his skin.

_Help me…_

He whimpered softly, wanting to lift his arms and grind the palms of his hands into his smouldering eyes. Surely, in some twisted sense of reasoning, it would alleviate their persistent stinging. But his body felt drained and, try as he may, his muscles refused to cooperate. He sighed – thankfully more through exasperation than physical torment – and slumped back into the warm comfort of the bed.

_Wait… where am I?_

Trying to control his heavy breathing – fuelled by his pain – he strained to hear for any familiar sounds. It struck him immediately that the world around him was quiet. His heart lurched at the realisation; why was everything so silent if they were in the midst of battle? He had only three conclusions to offer to his muddled mind: the first being that the battle had been won and Cenred's army driven out. Secondly, that Camelot had lost the battle and everyone within her walls either captured or killed. Or, lastly, that Merlin was dead.

As he strained for any sounds to confirm or deny any of these theories, Merlin found that they were each as likely as the next. Still, he didn't imagine that pain existed in death, or that Cenred's soldiers would be so merciful as to place him in a bed to recover. Hopefully, that only left one option.

A soft bubbling noise eventually greeted him somewhere across the room and he smiled, despite the stab of pain that exploded through his skull. He would recognise the sounds of brewing potions anywhere; he was in Gaius's chambers.

He was home.

"G-Gaius?" he tentatively asked, alarmed upon hearing the grating edge to his voice. It sounded raw, as though his throat had undergone some intense torment without his knowing. Attempting to clear it resulted in another excruciating twinge and he quickly abandoned the endeavour. "Gaius?"

He paused for a moment, but there was no replying voice or bustle of movement indicating that he had been heard. Briefly, he had wondered if Gaius would be asleep at his side before he recognised the selfishness of that thought. The entire kingdom had just been dragged into a violent battle; Merlin doubted that he was the only injured person in need of help.

_Maybe I should wake up now. _

Of course, Merlin knew that he was awake but with his eyes closed, he always felt somewhere in between. Visually seeing things always confirmed that they were there; be it Gaius and his concerned expression when Merlin returned from another trip gone wrong, or Arthur when he, once again, had a brush with death.

Wincing as his lids began to pull apart, the young warlock desperately tried to remember what had happened. He remembered running out of the castle in search of Arthur. He remembered the roaring flames above his head, the clashing of swords engaged in combat and the screams of innocent people. He recalled every detail of the horrific battle, except for the one that was currently most crucial to him; what had happened to him.

Searing pain raced along his eyes and he had the vague recollection of already performing this harrowing act before. Still, too exhausted to pursue the trail of thought, Merlin peeled back his aching lids and gazed wearily upwards at... nothing.

He could see _nothing_.

Merlin felt his breath hitch, long before he had even realised that he should be panicking. His heart beat violently against his chest and he sluggishly raised a hand to it, terrified that it might burst through. His other hand, shaking aggressively, rose to his face. Clumsy fingers ventured over his cheekbones, prodding harshly against coarse skin and igniting scorching agony with each misplaced touch. Ignoring the pain, the warlock reached his eye, feeling the ruined flesh beneath his fingertips as his finger slipped into the gap between his lids.

His eyes were, indisputably, open.

Gasping for air, Merlin shot upright. Agony burst through his skull and he groaned, forcing it away as horror overwhelmed him. He thrashed beneath the blankets, swiftly throwing them from his slim frame and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His breathing rasped viciously in his throat and, disregarding the tug of sleep that offered his wounded body rest, Merlin forced himself onto his feet.

_Too soon, _was his initial thought as his head spun in a disturbing attack of vertigo. With his arms raised blindly ahead of him, he stumbled forward, unaware of his direction and not really caring of his eventual destination.

He just had to get away.

He slammed hard into what he imagined was a table, the desperate pants for air cut off abruptly. Merlin crumpled slightly, hands clinging onto the wood like a lifeline as his head proceeded to bow downwards. His back heaved as he struggled to breathe, eyes ironically wide despite his loss of sight.

"Gaius, help m..." he broke off as he hiccupped roughly, fingers furling and unfurling along his support structure's rough surface. Fire danced within his skull, threatening to tear him from consciousness but he struggled valiantly against it. He had to know. He had to. None of this was real, it couldn't be...

"_Gaius!_"

His voice cracked on the name of his guardian, the one person he knew that could take away the pain. Shoving away from the table, Merlin wavered where he stood, only taking steps when his body seemed to collapse in that certain direction. Grief welled in his chest, encompassing his racing heart and threatening to smother it as it was beating. He was so scared.

"Please! H-Help..." a sob rent from his throat as he staggered, unseeing, through the once familiar chambers. He felt so lost, so removed from all that he had once known. _Maybe I'll wake up. Maybe I'm still dreaming. _

The creak of the door made his head snap upward; a motion that he wished he had prevented. Agony, so strong that he was sure he momentarily stopped breathing, exploded within his brain. He absently felt his knees buckle, heard someone shout his name as he tumbled towards the floor. Part of him wanted to collide with it hard; hard enough to erase this moment from his mind for the rest of his life.

A pair of arms embraced him, halting his descent. His head thumped against soft material and, squeezing his now useless eyes closed, he wept. His hands scrabbled against the clothing, clutching on tightly and feeling the arms mimic his actions.

"Gaius! P-Please! Help me."

Merlin felt his protector lower them both to the floor, only half aware of them murmuring his name beneath his wails of despair. He whimpered, drawing his knees tight against his chest and leaning heavily against the warm chest. The heart beneath his ear beat rapidly and he almost apologised, well aware that worrying Gaius so was unfair of him. He attempted to say the words. Just two words: "I'm sorry", but they wouldn't come. Instead, he exhaled shakily, simply allowing himself to be cradled and for once, he was grateful to not be the one shielding others from hurt.

His eyes silently screamed in pain as tears slipped across burnt skin; simultaneously soothing and aggravating at the same time. "Gaius, I c-can't," Merlin swallowed, his fingers still tightly wound into fabric. "I can't see, Gaius. Please, I can't..."

The warlock felt the arms around him tighten at the admission, but light-headedness had begun to take hold. Slumping where he sat, Merlin painfully drew back his lids, hoping that there had been some mistake. What he wouldn't have given to see Gaius above him, clutching him close.

The darkness was all that greeted him. With a final whimper, Merlin began to slip into unconsciousness, the distorted echo of his name resounded somewhere above his head. Slowly, he blinked. For the briefest of moments when his eyes reopened, he thought he saw a flash of crimson, interspersed with the purest of gold, before he succumbed.

He denied it with his last conscious thought, imagining it to be his delirium. How else would a blind man be able to see?

* * *

_I'm not sure if that qualifies as a cliffhanger, since the title and everything before this alluded to him being blind... ah well :P_

_Thanks for reading it so far and please review to let me know what you thought of it! :D_

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)  
_


	9. Chapter 9

_Hello everyone! :)  
_

_First of all, I am so, **so **sorry for not updating in ages! I hate making excuses, but I have been quite ill since the end of June so updating has been a little difficult. Still, onwards and upwards and on the plus side, I got into University! So I should have more time to write between lectures (in theory) :D.  
_

_Thank you all for being so patient with me and for sending me such wonderful reviews. I will reply to them all individually, but I felt that you would all probably prefer an update instead of my rambling explanations to each of you. _

_So, without any further ado, here is the next chapter and is a parallel/continuation of the previous one. Enjoy! :)_

* * *

Chapter 9

"How goes the restoration of Camelot?"

His father's question had been replaying through his mind ever since their meeting had concluded. He had tried his utmost to answer it; to ensure that suitable action was being taken to restore the kingdom to its former glory. However, the truth was that their restorative efforts were currently in vain. So much had been destroyed, so many had died...

How was Arthur supposed to fix that?

Pausing in his walk, he sighed, rubbing a hand along his face. He had been sent to rest – his father being utterly adamant and warning the prince not to make him order it for a third time – and Arthur had, this time, freshened up and changed out of his armour. Somehow the loss of its weight was a relief and, until he had removed it, Arthur had not realised how much it had reeked of blood; of death.

Allowing his hand to fall to his side, Arthur continued his steady walk down the corridors, sorrowfully noting how empty they were as he went. His eyes stung with exhaustion as they studied his feet, too fearful to glance up and see any further destruction. But he could not rest; not until he had seen him.

His hands shook almost feverishly as he walked and he clasped them tightly together. It was truly pathetic, he knew, to be acting so nervous. Merlin was his servant and, at least in his father's eyes, worth nothing more than a nonchalant shrug before being disregarded entirely. The thought of doing that to Merlin, however, forced Arthur to slow in his steps, disgust sweeping across his handsome features.

Because, despite Merlin's social position, Arthur could not deny that he felt a peculiar kind of affection to the young boy. He was relentlessly annoying, overly chirpy, moronically selfless and too opinionated at times, but there was something about him; something that transformed potentially errant qualities into virtues. Merlin was, surprisingly, an enigma and Arthur vowed to spend each day solving the individual pieces that made his servant such an endearing person to be around.

_So he can't die, _Arthur reasoned, strengthening his pace as he followed the familiar route to Gaius' chambers. _Not until I've solved him. _

With a newfound sense of resolve – one that he hoped was foolishly misplaced – Arthur descended the steps to the courtyard. His breath hitched slightly in his chest as he was greeted by the familiar destruction. Previously beautiful stone had been charred violently, smouldering flames somehow seeming to lurk beneath the cracks as though to spring forth and continue its path of destruction. Blood stains marked a disturbing pathway across the courtyard, splintering apart as though suggesting various routes to follow. Arthur swallowed, attempting to sidestep them whilst hoping that rain would come to wash away the grief of their battle.

It was ironic that they had been victorious. The blonde prince sighed softly, moving mournfully across the empty courtyard. _How can we have won when we have all lost so much?_

There was no answer, only the sight of dozens of bodies ahead of him. They had each been individually covered in white sheets and organised into columns. Arthur drew to a stop before them, his eyes trailing over the identical mounds with an ill-conceived melancholy. It was, of course, tradition after a battle to cover the dead and lay them out until the appropriate ceremonies could be performed.

It was disturbing how coordinated death could be.

Hesitantly, Arthur made his way forward, stepping carefully between the arranged bodies. The white sheets obscured the deceased victims' faces, only the occasional scarlet stain suggesting that a person lay beneath. They were identical: knights, citizens, nobles, they were all laid together indistinguishably. Death truly had little care for social standing. _In that sense_, the prince thought forlornly, _we are all the same. _

Eventually, Arthur passed through the makeshift cemetery, his footsteps a little heavier than they had been before entering. His thoughts strayed back to Merlin and he could not help but feel the smallest spark of relief that his friend had not been amongst the unidentifiable bodies. Despite his gawky appearance, Merlin was undoubtedly one of the strongest people he had had the good fortune to meet.

The journey to the court physician's chambers took much less time than Arthur had ever recalled it taking before. Before he knew it – too distracted and tormented by his endless torrents of thought – the old door entered his vision, awaiting him patiently.

Subconsciously, his footsteps began to quieten ever so slightly against the smooth stone floor until, as silently as he would have been when hunting, he drew to a stop before Gaius' chambers. He remained motionless for some time, simply staring at the wood as though it held all of the answers to his problems. The indecision tore at him as to whether or not he should enter and so he waited. The solution would present itself.

Perhaps Gaius was already in the room, sitting loyally by Merlin's bedside as he was certain to be doing. Arthur remembered seeing the physician at his father's meeting, but he doubted that he had actually heard a single word that had been spoken. Arthur could not recall a previous time when Gaius had looked so utterly drawn and disquieted.

The reason as to why clearly went without saying.

The blonde prince sighed softly, lowering his hand from where it had steadily risen to grasp the handle. It had been a long time since the meeting had ended and Gaius would have undoubtedly rushed away to be by his ward's side. It was truly not his place to interfere, royalty or not. Besides, he had other matters to attend to.

Finally determining that he was not required, Arthur turned to leave. Perhaps it would be best if he returned when Merlin had recovered further and was prepared for visitors. From the little pieces of information that he had managed to wrangle from various passing servants – whom he knew were prone to idle gossip – Merlin had yet to regain consciousness. It seemed pointless for him to visit someone who was entirely unaware of his presence.

"_Gaius!_"

Arthur immediately froze where he stood, a chill spreading ominously through each inch of his skin before racing the length of his spine in cruel torment. His chest hitched slightly, the voice instantly recognisable despite the agonised scream that had encased it. The sound reverberated around his skull, pulsating endlessly through his mind.

He _never_ wanted to hear Merlin scream like that again.

Returning his focus sharply to the door, Arthur heard thunderous clatters and heavy thuds as someone stumbled around the room. It took very little thought to guess exactly who was causing the noise. With half a mind to enter the chambers and only sheer willpower preventing him at this point, Arthur held back, aware that Gaius would have matters well in hand. The crown prince found himself frowning instantly at the thought; why, then, wasn't the physician answering?

"Please! H-Help..."

The desperate call for help buffeted at him again and, with a hint of alarm, he heard the sob that choked off any further words from being spoken. It shocked him. After all, the number of times that he had noticed his chirpy servant in a sombre mood could be easily counted on one hand; the number of times that he had actually been seen crying, most probably, on one finger.

With his resolve completely shattered by the sounds of his servant's struggles, Arthur slowly opened the door. It did not take him long to locate Merlin who, wavering dangerously in the midst of a chaotic room, stood out rather noticeably. Taking only a moment to study the chambers, wondering how an injured skinny boy could so easily transform an area into a maelstrom-hit disaster, Arthur saw Merlin's knees begin to buckle.

"Merlin!"

The cry was rent from his throat before he was even aware that his lips had parted and in mere seconds, he was in front of the boy, catching him beneath his arms. His servant's slim frame was absolute deadweight against him and yet, so strangely light and fragile that Arthur took a little extra care in lowering them both to the floor.

He watched as the dark head of hair thudded heavily against his chest, the prince's courageous heart beating dangerously fast beneath it. Pale fingers began to clutch at him desperately, curling in his shirt and, uncertain as to how he should react, Arthur remained immobile while Merlin clung to him. All too knowledgeable that he, the crown prince of Camelot, was currently being used as some sort of human-shaped pillow, he opened his mouth to speak out.

Then Merlin began to cry, begging for help once more.

Arthur's mouth abruptly snapped shut, his servant's shudders running through his own frame and causing him to shake in synchronisation. He softly murmured Merlin's name, tenderly holding him close whilst desperately wondering what else he could do. He had never been the best source of comfort.

He was not entirely sure how long the two of them remained in that position: Arthur protectively cradling his servant whilst Merlin held onto the prince like he was his only remaining lifeline, but he realised that it did not matter. It felt right, that was all. Still, Arthur found that he was glad that Merlin's face was buried deeply in his chest and therefore blind to the pained expression that he knew to be evident on his own features.

He glanced down, his sharp gaze instantly honing in on the violent burns littering the boy's brow and enveloping what he knew to be a serious wound. Barely withholding a wince, he shifted his stare away again, realising at once how much worse the injuries appeared in clear daylight.

"Gaius, I c-can't," the choked voice surfaced again and as Arthur felt the grip in his clothing constrict further, he wondered if it was a request for the physician. Sparing a quick glance around, fully assuring himself that Gaius was nowhere to be found, he began to offer an assurance that he would send guards to retrieve Gaius. The words never came, however, as the pale face tilted upwards a fraction towards him. Arthur's eyes widened, his mouth gaping without his knowing.

"I can't see, Gaius."

The prince stiffened, his grip on the fragile boy increasing tenfold as he held the vacant stare. Gone were the familiar sapphire orbs that he had become accustomed to seeing on a daily basis. The stormy grey irises seemed to blur into the pupils, draining all life and colour from Merlin's eyes until they were all but dead. They watched him unblinkingly, glistening with tears and framed by a vicious, weeping cut that simply added to the torturous portrait.

Arthur faltered entirely. There were no words that he could speak; no gestures that he could make to put an end to Merlin's suffering. There was nothing that he could do and that – the one cruel realisation – hurt more than any physical torture ever could.

Merlin exhaled lightly, the charred eyelids beginning to flutter as he descended back into the deep realm of unconsciousness. As the prince held him, still too shaken to comprehend anything beyond his servant's fateful words, he found himself studying the dull eyes once more. It was only for the briefest of moments, no more than a second long, but Arthur was certain that Merlin actually looked _at _him.

It was a passing fancy however, as Merlin's frame relaxed entirely, limbs slackening and slapping heavily against the stone floor. The dark head of hair fell backwards in blessed reprieve, draping across Arthur's upper arm. The young Pendragon flinched at the eerily reminiscent scene, from the time when they had been surrounded by flames rather than potions, before he gathered himself.

"What were you even trying to accomplish in getting out of bed?" He sighed lightly. "You really are an idiot."

But there was no malice lacing his words, only a lingering affection that seemed to always emerge when Merlin was around. Tentatively, Arthur raised the wounded boy into his arms before easily depositing him a short distance away on the cot in the centre of Gaius' chambers.

Dropping onto the unoccupied stool by Merlin's bedside, the prince wearily scrubbed a hand through his golden locks, his eyes tracing the pallid features of his younger charge. Despite the gruesome injury marring his eyes and brow, Merlin's face looked deceptively serene in sleep and Arthur could not help but notice how young it made him appear.

_That's because he is, _the prince thought sorrowfully to himself, his bright eyes fixed upon Merlin. And the simple truth was that Merlin was incredibly young; they both were. Some, sympathetic types mostly, would say that their youth should grant them reprieves from their duties and numerous hardships, but it did not.

It couldn't.

As royalty, Arthur had always been prepared – both mentally and physically – for the arduous trials that lay before him on his journey to claim the throne. He had accepted that his youth would have to be sacrificed to gain the maturity and leadership skills that were required of a future King. He did not even view it as a loss, but rather a necessity in order to become the man that his kingdom would one day look to for guidance.

Until now, he had never considered how Merlin was subject to the same changes as he. Perhaps his servant's alterations were less obvious than those of a crown prince, but they were there all the same. As a manservant to royalty, Merlin was forced to go through the same trials and struggles as Arthur, only to have less to show for it when it was all over. He was at Arthur's beck and call, with him for the majority of the day and for the vast majority of a week. His youth had also been unfairly sacrificed, but merely for the maturity best suited to his master's.

Arthur narrowed his eyes contemplatively. It was strange to view Merlin as anything other than the happy, cheerful, bouncy idiot who persisted on beginning every day with the agonising phrase: "Good morning." But there had been times, and even Arthur had admitted it, that his servant had shown himself to be wise; with wisdom beyond his years.

Merlin was, quite simply, far more than a serving boy. Even before Uther had appointed him in the position, the prince had noticed something different about him. There had been something that had made the pale, skinny boy stand out so phenomenally from the rest.

"There's something about you, Merlin. I can't quite put my finger on it."

Smiling to himself quietly at the memory, Arthur found that he still couldn't identify that peculiar quality. Merlin, for all of his clumsiness, still maintained an air of mystery about him. It had not escaped the prince's attention that there was a side to his servant that he was not privy to; the side where unexpected wisdom and astounding courage originated from. Arthur could only hope that, one day, Merlin would be willing to share his secrets. It was, he realised, for a partially selfish need in that he wanted to be assured that he was trusted.

"Perhaps this should work on a reward system," the young Pendragon commented to the plaint figure. "Every time that I save your life, you have to tell me one of your secrets. It should probably take me a little under a week to learn them all, if that."

He chuckled softly to himself, the humour not quite able to reach his eyes. Personally, he wondered what Merlin's reaction to his offer would be. Indignation quite possibly. Probably even laughter and the throwaway comment that he had no secrets to tell.

Yes, that one seemed more likely.

Shaking his head, Arthur leant closer to the bed, his gaze trailing steadily across the other boy's face. He opened his mouth to speak, but just as quickly, he closed it again. It was pointless to ask questions given that, both unconscious and awake, he would have not received a straight answer.

Time moved swiftly as the prince watched and waited in silence. It was only when Gaius returned a short while later that he rose to his feet to address him. He did not bother to ask where the physician had been; his glance at the blood-stained clothing already having been answer enough. So many had been injured; too many had died.

As he moved towards the door, Arthur reported what had happened. He noted how the physician's pallor had paled considerably as he spoke, his expression a mixture of concern and guilt at having been absent during his ward's distress. When he had finished, Arthur turned to leave, already bracing himself for the struggles of restoring Camelot to its former glory. His heart grieved every time his gaze fell upon another ruin of his father's kingdom.

"Sire."

Glancing back, the young Pendragon caught Gaius' eye. The old man's look of gratitude humbled him slightly and he fought to maintain his pride, refusing to glance away in what would have been an, embarrassingly, bashful gesture.

"Thank you for staying with him, Arthur. Merlin needs his friends around him at a time like this."

Bowing his head once, the golden prince departed. As he strode down the corridor, his boots slapping heavily against the cold stone, he could not help but reflect on Gaius' parting words to him: _'Merlin needs his friends around him...'_

Friends, he liked that label being applied to him. He murmured the word softly, relishing the way it rolled off of his tongue. It was not something that he had thought of much in terms on himself and his servant – _idiot that he is_ - but he found it was applicable all the same.

Despite his sorrow, he smirked to himself in amusement. _Not that I'll tell Merlin that, of course. A prince – the crown prince, no less – friends with a servant? _His smile slipped a fraction, well aware that the very same question was one that Uther would have asked in contempt.

The brief moment of joviality fled from him before he even had a chance to recall it. With an air of solemnity, Arthur made his way towards the lower town, only the bitter voice of his father granting a make-believe answer preventing him from feeling entirely alone as he was left to face his duties.

_Preposterous. _

* * *

_So was it worth the wait? :/_

_I know that Merlin's still with the fairies, but I'm planning to jump ahead a bit now so he's actually conscious and up and about from now on. _

_I'm not sure about the way that I've written Arthur's character, so please review and let me know what you think! :D. Thank you for sticking with me so far!_

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x x x x x ;)  
_


	10. Chapter 10

_Hey everyone! :)_

_I'm so sorry about a total lack of updates! I really am and I feel awful for making you all hang on. I completely lost inspiration and I'm struggling to focus on where to go. I could give excuses till I'm blue in the face, but I'm just going to skip that part and update. I'm still trying to find a direction in which to go with this (my creativity has made a swift exit) so I will try and figure something out asap. _

_Thanks everyone for reading / reviewing etc and I hope this update is okay! Thanks :)_

* * *

Chapter 10

"Merlin!"

The young warlock flinched violently at the exclamation, his arms spinning backwards violently as he lost his concentration. Managing to grab onto what, it seemed, was the corner of an old table, Merlin re-captured his balance. With a heavy exhale, he tilted his head upwards in the direction of the voice, having the good grace to bear a guilty expression as he did so.

"Gaius, I know, but _please_..."

"We have been through this, Merlin," interrupted the physician and in a few swift, angry-sounding strides, the man was beside him. Despite himself, Merlin recoiled slightly before a surprisingly gentle grip rested around his upper arm. "You are to rest and recover until you are fit to leave my chambers. Is that understood?"

Sighing, the servant remained silent as he was idly guided to the sole bed in the room. With a forceful push, he was made to sit and, had he been able without subsequent pain, he would have rolled his eyes at the action. As it was, he settled for another sigh; this time louder to make his feelings perfectly clear.

"Stop sighing Merlin and drink this."

The familiar glass bottle was inserted into his hands and he lowered his head, imagining its shape, size and colour, the way it slimmed towards the stopper and the intricacy of the label that informed the taker of its contents. "It tastes awful, Gaius," he moaned quietly, twisting the bottle in his hand and formulating a dissatisfied expression. "My eyesight may be damaged, but my taste buds are not."

It was Gaius' turn to sigh and Merlin imagined his face; the downwards tug of the corners of his mouth while his brow crinkled, only the iconic eyebrow remaining upright. A bitter smile almost rose upon his lips and he wished deeply that he was able to see his guardian with more than just mere imagination: "The worse the taste, the better the effect."

Merlin scoffed lightly, picking at the label with his fingers. "Is that another of your proverbs, Gaius?"

"... Yes, so it would do you well to follow my advice." _There is no way that's a proverb. _

Sounds of the physician bustling around the room, no doubt tidying away wayward books that had been thrown around haphazardly in searches for various cures, were somewhat soothing to the sightless boy. It made him uncomfortable to be surrounded in utter silence and have no indication that there was anyone nearby. It hurt to feel so entirely alone.

"Drink it, Merlin."

Sighing loudly – loud enough to make his distaste noticed – Merlin raised the bottle to his lips. Its rim nudged his bottom lip clumsily before he guided it to its correct position, swigging it in one quick movement. The taste was beyond vile as he swallowed, instantly pulling a face and almost retching. "That is..." he paused, sticking his tongue out in an attempt to remove the foul flavour. "That is _disgusting._"

Without a word, Gaius swept forwards, plucking the now empty bottle from the boy's fingers. "When you are finished complaining, I ask that you lie down and rest."

"Gaius, all I've done for the past week is rest."

"Then you should be used to it by now," retorted the physician and Merlin again resisted the urge to roll his eyes; he had discovered some days earlier that the familiar action was now an agonising one to perform. "Healing takes time, Merlin, as all worthwhile things do."

"I know. It's just... I would rather be doing something, _anything_. Even if it meant having to endure Arthur's prattishness for hours on end, it would be better than just sitting here and thinking." Merlin lowered his head, his fingers simultaneously rising to pick at the loose threads of the bandage over his eyes.

There was a brief shuffling sound before the mattress of the bed sunk down slightly next to him, an arm rising about his shoulders to embrace him slightly. Merlin leaned into it willingly, glad for some form of comfort in his blackened abyss where no light was brave enough to venture and find him.

"Ah Merlin, I understand, but you must be patient. I will continue to search for a cure, but there may be the possibility that this is an ailment that only time can remedy."

The warlock shook his head sorrowfully, his scarred eyelids blinking behind the layer of cloth that concealed them. "That is if it _can_ be cured."

"Merlin..."

"I'm right though, Gaius. You know as well as I do that this could be permanent."

The comforting arm tightened its grip warmly before it slipped away, the physician rising to his feet and returning to his mountainous pile of medical books. "There is nothing to say that the damage is lasting. I have already explained to you that the swelling will take time to recede and until then, I cannot fully determine how much harm has been done."

Shaking his head silently, Merlin tugged his legs upwards, resting his chin forlornly on his knees. He found it pointless to dispute this. Truly, they were both living under the blind – and he scorned the expression – hope that the main damage was purely external. He had no idea what they would do if such hope was proved to be futile.

A loud knock at the physician's door made the young servant jump and he muttered an expletive under his breath. He loathed his own involuntary reactions, making him as nervous as a rabbit that was being hunted by Arthur on one of his numerous excursions. Gaius, either oblivious or deciding not to acknowledge his ward's colourful use of language, called for the visitor to enter and the old door creaked open steadily.

"Gaius, the Lady Morgana requests your presence."

Merlin tensed visibly where he sat at the words, his head snapping upwards in the direction of the guard's voice. Distrust boiled furiously beneath his skin, setting every minute hair on edge as his thoughts trailed to the traitorous ward of Camelot; an enemy of the worst kind, having once been a friend.

"Of course, I will go to her immediately."

The door creaked again, signalling the guard's retreat and Merlin turned his head away. His body still brimmed with tension as he waited, listening to Gaius heavily close the book that he had been perusing. "You should not go."

"I must, Merlin. What explanation would I give to Uther as to why I have declined treatment to his ward?"

Merlin scoffed, doubting that such treatment was necessary. Gaius had previously informed him of what had occurred in the vaults and the collapsing of the ceiling having led to Morgana's apparent 'injury'. Still, he managed a slight smile despite himself at the image of her annoyance in having her plans foiled by falling debris.

His expression sobered immediately however. After all, Gaius had been the one to confront Morgana and, despite the collapse having nothing to do with the physician, she would undoubtedly place blame on the nearest person. "I do not trust her, Gaius."

"Neither do I, Merlin."

"No," the warlock began, tightening his grip around his bunched legs. "I do not trust her with _you_."

The physician seemed to pause and Merlin imagined him nodding softly. "I know. She will want revenge for her failings, but you know that she is unlikely to do so openly. I fear that she and Morgause have other plans in store for Camelot that cannot be ruined by petty revenge against an old man." Gaius approached him, setting a hand gently on his thin shoulder. "Her threats will not move me Merlin and she cannot harm me without risk of exposure."

The sound logic of the elder man's reasoning was soothing. As the hand was removed, Gaius' footsteps retreating heavily across the room, Merlin replied, "Just... be careful."

The clack of boots stilled, "Of course. Now _sleep_. I hope to return to find you in your bed, where you should be."

Gaius departed swiftly and Merlin, now greeted with disturbing quiet, found himself feeling entirely alone. With an air of reluctance, he swivelled in his position on the bed, dropping onto the pillow heavily. He blinked unseeingly upwards at the bandage, resisting the urge to pick at the fraying threads as he had been prone to do.

He hated rest.

He hated sleep.

Never in his wildest dreams would Merlin have thought that he would actually want to return to his post as Arthur's manservant. As it was, it was his deepest wish that he would be allowed to move about the castle and attempt to restore some form of normality to his daily life. It was true that he wasn't sure how a blind servant was supposed to function at full capacity, but he doubted it would make him any clumsier than he already was.

_Or at least Arthur will not think so. _

Smiling weakly to himself, Merlin allowed his eyes to close, ignoring the fact that it made no difference at all to his vision. He shifted restlessly, ears straining until the signs of Gaius returning, safe and well, granted them a reprieve.

Feigning sleep, Merlin waited.

* * *

Another item of furniture was flung across the room in what could only be construed as a juvenile strop. Watching as the priceless candlestick crashed and clattered across the room, Morgause found herself resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Why was it that she always was lumbered with childish allies? Granted, they were far easier to manipulate but it would always be a welcome change for her to alter her role as apparent mother to a group of impudent children.

"Cenred, calm yourself."

The King turned on her, breathing heavily while his deep eyes flashed with fury. She replied in kind, knowing without a doubt that any threat he offered towards her would be returned in the form of immediate action, and one that he would most definitely regret invoking. After several moments, Cenred averted his gaze, laughing darkly. "How can you expect me to be calm when our plans lie in tatters at our feet?"

The sorceress remained unmoved, fingers curling around the top of the throne she stood beside. "There will be another time." He scoffed, throwing his hands up in frustration. "We were caught off guard, I will admit. But that will not happen again."

Shaking his head, Cenred stepped towards her, leaning against the table that rested between them, "One old man, Morgause? That is what defied my army, your little traitor, _and _yourself? One doddery _old _man!"

"Gaius was a factor that none of us considered," snapped back Morgause, her fingers curling tighter around the wood of the majestic chair. "He surprised us by his defiance, but he is, as you say, nothing more than one old man."

"Yes, but he still managed to defeat _your_ sister, Morgause. He took apart your spell with a single blow, and our plans with it."

"We underestimated him, but unless you plan on recruiting him through your continual praises, Morgana will deal with him. He is in a precarious position. He may have Uther's trust on side, but he does not hold his love, something which my beloved sister does."

Morgause smiled darkly, releasing her grasp on the chair and slinking around the table to his side. Her golden hair swung about her with each step, spiralling about her like captured rays of sunlight at the dawning of the day. The scarlet dress clung to her torso, fanning out beautifully at her feet as she drew to a stop before the King.

"What are you intending to do to him?"

The sorceress smiled, edging closer to stare up at him with deep, knowing eyes. "We will make him suffer. He will rue the day he decided to meddle in our affairs."

"You will kill the court physician of Camelot?" Cenred narrowed his eyes, a frown forming neatly along his brow. "And how do you intend to do this without drawing suspicion onto your sister?"

Shaking her head, Morgause laughed melodiously, reaching one hand to cradle the side of his face. The touch was fleeting; as cold and emotionless as the mocking affection in her gaze, posed only to please the weak minded. Cenred's lips quirked and his cheek tilted to nestle more deeply in the palm of false adoration, yearning for its non-existent warmth.

"My dear Cenred, dying is not the only way there is to suffer."

* * *

_I hope you all liked it! As said previously, I'll try to figure out where to go with this (and hopefully I won't take too long in doing it!). Thanks for reading! :D_

_Hugs, Ami-Rose x :)  
_


End file.
